This poem is a revised edition of a poem I'd earlier composed. The poem is based on the historic discovery of the tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamun in 1922 by Howard Carter.
I am here on an archaeological quest, to satisfy many a curious mind's request for knowledge on antiques and artifacts of Egypt's long extinct historical facts, in treasured sands buried, like gold mines earnestly sought for in stories shrouded in mythology. With a large contingent just as curious as I, hardly daunted by curses, but with shoulders high, We went to the field, the sun baking us chaps to a baker's delight. With our rumpled maps, we searched every clue, and were bitten perhaps by a million flies. Getting relief from sunless skies in times of fair weather, whilst hoping something lies in the depths of the hot sands for our very eyes to see. With my tools by hard work and search worn out, I brushed to full view, the tomb, brilliantly carved out of young blue blooded Tut, regally laid to rest. To my wearied colleagues I spoke in real earnest: 'To exhume the past, we are here at last.'
The Borderline Anti-Memory PastBook asks questions a diary does not ask and raises the questions to dialectics and answers them in a way a memory work does not answer questions.