The Harbinger

He meanders down the deserted streets of the uncouth ruins of shattered language looking for creative act, nubile poetry, celestial songs, devoid of cultural pluralisation, tarnished sensibilities, receding waves of celebration.... looking for- the harbinger of wonderful monument. A warm tempest rises and vanishes covering the street with blazing sand offering a torn envelope addressed to him mothering a blank letter, moistened with salty waters and, he stands perplexed at the moisture in desolate aridity, at the miraculous ways of power. He wades through the ablaze sallow sand. Distant voices press upon his ears ringing in his mind enforcing him to go on to discover the.... The scattered letters glistened in the gloaming, inviting him to fetch them up. He runs and takes V O E L in his hands and he wonders at every probability of permutations. Through the opaque airs he descries an old fort (perhaps) with a magnificent glorified entrance. The door, locked up from outside and a bunch of keys lying buried in the sand. He gazes at them continually and looks at me questioningly but, I had only injured answers to offer.