Sampurna Chattarji: Space Gulliver IV
‘A parallelogram is a telegram from a parallel world,’
a being in a red hat says, taking out a little notebook.
‘Let me give you my coordinates.’ And instead of latitude
and longitude, as Space Gulliver expects, the being,
whose hat is now an obscure shade of ochre, reels off
a series of sounds like horses neighing, like vowels
and consonants, like numbers from a nightmare.
‘Whether you find me is immaterial,’ the being says,
sounding like himself again, in other words, sounding
like wind in the trees, snow on the grass, willows weeping
into water. ‘It’s the Houyhnhnm that counts.’
There are many beings here, roaming the ether.
Are they real? Is that a parking meter? A lamp post?
So this, Space Gulliver thinks, is what travelling means.
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