The world is a bridge- entering the great gate of Fatehpur Sikri, Sir Thomas Roe was thus epigraphically admonished four centuries ago- pass over it; build no houses on it.
Still, it would be another 150 years before us Cockneys saw sense and demolished all London Bridge's crazily piled skyward tenements and emporia as well as disassembling, that miracle of the joiner's art, Nonsuch House- hyle here so answering to Porphyry's fire- which, unlike that of lame Hephaistos, burns more like a dancer for disdaining matter's crutch- it out-dances its own Great Fire like a limber Mahasati.
What of our own Asad- Agra's child?
This is my best guess.
If you are so fucking stupid as to believe the Taj's choultry can be any Mosque's jawaab
Your own cock is the Saqi of non duality's Danaean pishaab.
Pyrhho, Ind's indalmoi as Heaven's King- of cunts composed
Ah! Ask not my dick to count each sin the stars proposed!
Pyrhho, Ind's indalmoi as Heaven's King- of cunts composed
Ah! Ask not my dick to count each sin the stars proposed!
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{79,1}*gar tujh ko hai yaqīn-e ijābat duʿā nah māñg
yaʿnī baġhair-e yak dil-e be-muddaʿā nah māñg
1a) if you have assurance of [God's] acceptance [of your prayer], don't ask in prayer
1b) if you have assurance in [your] acceptance [of God's will], don't ask in prayer
2a) that is, except for a single heart with no desire/object, don’t ask [for anything else] in prayer
2b) that is, without [having] a single heart with no desire/object, don’t ask in prayer
ātā hai dāġh-e ḥasrat-e dil kā shumār yād
mujh se mire gunah kā ḥisāb ay ḳhudā nah māñg
1) the number of wounds/scars of the longing/grief of the heart [habitually] comes to mind
2) from me, an accounting of my sin, oh Lord-- don't ask
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