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The Country Without a Post Office
1 Again I’ve returned to this country where a minaret has been entombed. Someone soaks the wicks of clay lamps in mustard oil, each night climbs its steps to read messages scratched on planets. His fingerprints cancel bank stamps in that archive for letters with doomed addresses, each house buried or empty.
Explain me the first stanza deeply. look for symbolisms, metaphores, Imageries or any other poetics devices.
where a tower is buried. Someone dips the wicks of clay lamps in mustard oil, climbs its steps each night to read messages etched on planets. His fingerprints erase bank stamps in that archive for letters with hopeless addresses, each house buried or empty. Empty? Because so many escaped, ran away, and became refugees there, in the plains,
Once more, I've come back to this place