than the whir of a freewheeling mind.
All our technologies pale, when it grinds to dust
universes -distances disappear and enormity
with its sidekick infinity, hightail it like scared rabbits
when the mind whirs
countless libraries with their low hum
operate there without any other
breathing forms or throbbing shadows
slithering about throwing up sinister implications
the mystery of organic farming of memories
would be it be deciphered in the next few centuries?
The mind also plays tricks -blessing us with the
phantasmogorical displays, impromptu bouts
of shadow-boxing where
meaning and lack of meaning
altogether lose track of meaning....
baffled silence rules.