Ghosts
When
I was much younger,
I
read a story by Reginald Hill:
“There
Are No Ghosts in the Soviet Union.”
Back
when there was a Soviet Union
to
not be haunted.
I
think of that story often now.
There
are no ghosts in Dubai.
Here
I live amidst a district
that
blossomed from the desert
a
mere decade ago.
Nothing
haunts these near-nascent halls.
Most
would say that this is good.
Many
have a terror of ghosts.
While
I may dread at times,
mostly
I find them comforting.
Ties
to a past that soothes the soul,
allaying
the sense of isolation
in
this post-human age.
I
miss the ghosts sometimes.
They
must be about somewhere.
My
students tell me that they are.
They
tell me of Qareen and Djinn
in hushed, excited
tones,
eager to share the
mysteries of their world.
Perhaps, someday,
I’ll meet them.
I would like to, as
frightening as it might be.
But the reminder of
being part
of something
larger, a continuum,
would be welcome.
For now, though,
for me,
there are no ghosts
in Dubai.
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