We hear insides of homes’ old air. They felt airy nothing, as bones had no marrow , their whispers hid from view by yellow stones.
There are no children in streets but on the empty roof terraces of air. Their roofs are some old air ,a mummified layer felt in echoes.
Old air is like our air soon to be. Homes are first their dust, then air. We are in bodies soon to be air with no stones after fire and air.
Old stones still have air in their gaps. Their stories are hid in crevices. Desert rats made them homes in the storied stone gasps of air.
(Kuldhara is an abandoned village near Jaisalmer, a ghost village deserted by its residents overnight in 19th century to escape persecution by a tyrant ruler)