The temples we built to decay

The temples we built to decay

The desert holds what fire forgets. Across Egypt, bones sleep in stone—still named, still adorned, still spoken to. Mummified pharaohs, buried priests, offerings intact. Not gone, but stored. Death, here, was not release. It was architecture. A body wrapped not to vanish, but to persist. Across the Indus, the flames took everything. Cremation wasn’t about honour. It was about acceleration. Returning form to formlessness. No monuments, no graves—…