The Fuelling Arms
Nothing except wonder you behold,
Sitting among the modifiers of fate,
Radiating warmth, light of faith,
Transmitting through thin thread,
Heart to heart with ethereal link.
They throw you high into the sky,
Like a fettle falcon ready to fly.
Flight takes you to the world strange,
On the landing spots, you often find,
The same sacred hands anxious to receive,
The fueling arms open wide,
Ready to embrace, infuse the power,
For further journey to the higher skies.
Note: This poem is purely based on a spiritual experience, and nothing else. In my life I passed though a certain period (from 1992 to 1998) when I often felt a sort of titillating sensation and something dispatching from my physical body and flying with all sensation and consciousness, into the distant corners of the universe, beyond imagination where I observed other worlds much vaster than ours, saw spirits of the diseased men and women, often I had a chat with them who disclosed some mysteries. My poem is a narration of the same experience and it is not merely a vain imagining; I have evaded from exaggeration; I put my case to the psychiatrists, and spiritualists for comments and criticism, the poem also contains a substance for the cosmologists.
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