The Qutab’s Precinct

All the things in my mind 
were otherwise absolutely clear and chronological
                that each city had
                its histories and modernities
                its city squares and thoroughfares
                lasses and lads
                rivers bridges gardens parks
                difficulties and amenities
                similarities and specialities
                its palaces and forts
                museums galleries theatres
                its writers artists stars
                and legends of martyrs
                its epics, armies, ports and airports. 

The map of each city’s geography and history
was absolutely clear in my mind

That one day,
in the zoo of Lucknow or maybe Krakow, 
while rambling, there rambled in my mind 
the map of the entire world
and man’s entire history . . . 

In what time am I?
Where have I come from? In what city am I?

In Kafka’s Prague
in a small room, No. 22 Golden Lane?
Or in the by-lanes of Venice?
Or in Ballimaran?
Am I in the grand palaces of Habsburg?
Or in Wawel Castle? Or the Diwan-e-Khas of the Red Fort?

When I returned I saw
standing in Humayun’s tomb or maybe the Qutab’s precinct,
a new riddle of Amir Khusro
connecting
to the chronicle of the arts, another link.

THE QUTAB’S PRECINCT