Quinwing A, Samij Datta
Stone Apparatus of the Mind-Tray in the Formless Vision of the Cat
Gurundig had a vision one day
She lay happily in the dream boat of an unknown truth
Played over a piano in c-sharp and minor scales
Arbitrary numbers became alphabets on the mouse-pad of her living world
She saw signals trapped in outer space that are moving in a distance
The equator was the face of a coyote running backwards in time
Frozen circles of memory mesmerize ether’s vibrating nebulas
And under the full moon the bark-tree song remains the same
Reason has toiled in the garden of its laughter
Weeding tropics with jobless acquisition of wealth
The river plantation have ceased statues collapsed like Mixolydian arcs
Gurundig was the happy mate of a satyr tragopan
Brewing coffee on the magic carpet of Dattatreya mantra
Dattatreya Hari Tat Sat
Forces are coplanar dusk hymns of Alblackica on anti-matter run
The sun is a dog bone chewing time like a dog in the micro-mind ether of the red space
Flying like a libretto of Francesco Cavalli in the Baroque evening of a mid-summer night’s dream
Was Shakespeare born from another planet in a different solar system?
The mind is a holographic universe attaining self-hood through enlightened thoughts
And as Gurundig in other Gurundigs melted like ice, there was an arrow of time like thunder in the skies
Where is the key given in the night of the Nights when the gods slept in the dreams of their destinies?
Where lay your kingdom what waters you have sailed to come to this shore?
Is memory a sacred beast lying in the space oblivious of everything?
Are you still dying or living like a dead in the mirror of mirrors haunted or deserted?
What bones mutter in the air in the shape of a Holocaust and crying like a baby in the infant cradles of your history?
Time was a hidden line of significance that incarnated points on the index of a page
It read itself incognito
The past is the present in the future of the past
And the past is not a past in the present future of time
But a light of flaming feathers on a quinwing- DNA isomatrix
Heliographic circles of Old Possum’s Practical Cats
Gave alpha zazix turn to king-circle-queen-well substrate of the creation
The wheel is a wheel in the cylindrical psychiquazim mind-matter of Jagannath
- Joy Roy Choudhury
Ref: Rupi’s Dance (2003), solo album by Ian Anderson