I had dreamed a magic, a mere thing waiting to become a mere thing, just like a rock of inorganic cells. A few chromosomes carry all memories of my primordial world, of giant-sized eggs .
You see I have invented a reed bringing forth the finest smelling finger hole music, smelling of oil-lamp flames extinguishing in ancient temples behind closed doors. I have invented gold robed gods smiling In flower decked finery, with the vermilion on my forehead where it is all written. I have invented half-burnt corpses flowing, In flames, on fragrant heaven-promises. This morning the reed vanished abruptly in the fragrance of the river’s shadows.
(Tribute to the Shehnai maestro Bismillah Khan)
The Morning is Just a Dream 