Deja Vu

A stranger seeking hearth and home
Belies the predictions made by some
Cataclysmic whispers from the winds
Defy optimism, but give in to hope
Each cry draws me, not heard by others
Footsteps light; illumination divine
Guides me through complex turbines
Heuristic algorithms grow inside

I’m sure I’ve been here before
Jalalabad is the centre of conflict
Khyber Pass is where stories travel
Laden with grief and tales of woe
Mountain gates open to let in days,
Nights beneath starless skies; yet a maze
Opportunist mornings, echoing evenings
Pour out vintage wines laced with blood

Questions hang loose on shifting horizons
Recurring horror tales evade answers
Stench of oppression seeps through souls
The psyche is but a collective memory
Unhinged from Belief, but gives no relief
Veneers of fake decency tearing apart
Whimpers of protest from fluttering hearts
Xylographic prints of a divided populace
Yet, a dream calls, a memory haunts
Zillions of lifetimes in the same continent


MTB: First to Last Letters

Disclaimer: Place names are used only to meet alphabetical requirements and have no historical or geographical significance. It is a work of fiction.

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