He who makes understands the scheme well,
The working riddles and amazing mysteries,
But the observers become stunned, tongue-tied,
On finding all rules of wisdom suspended.
Wanderlust led me to the ground of wonder,
Where placed I was a slight afar,
Out of the simple scattered houses,
Built on the uneven hard land of pebbles.
A huge mountain suspended in the air,
Above those silent serene swellings,
Perplexed me and my sense of logic.
The bulky phenomenon stood above,
Unpropped or without supporting pillars,
In the space not more than miles two;
Seemed all shining, dignified dark grey,
Composed of a single rising rock.
The ceiling plain, the front glimmering rough,
Glistened, reflected dim light to the west;
With no vegetation, trees and swaying tufts.
Elegant peaks rose higher than Himalayan’s,
Invincible, too precipitous to be climbed.
Strolled I and roved about the town,
Fearing lest the lurking object should fall.
On the way I found a few men in the street,
Declined I the offer unknowingly of the two,
Then turned aside and found an old sage,
Mild, gentle with bearings of a saint,
Distributing the passes to each passerby,
Bestowed he me one on which, “Muhammad”,
The most sacred name was inscribed.
Author notes
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 sensations 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, revealing mysteries. My poem is a narration of the same experience and it is not merely a vain imagining; I have evaded myself from exaggeration; I put my case to the psychiatrists, and spiritualists for comments and criticism, the poem also contains a substance for the cosmologists.
Comments
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Mystery
Your poem conveys a sense of wonder about somehing apparently invisible to or at least unnoticed by other men. As such it is almost a definition of the duty of the artist to make every attempt to describe the indescribable. I have often stared at mountainous clouds in the sky and wondered as the world passed carelessly beneath them. Your footnote says you talk of a deeper experience and my respect for daring to speak so candidly. May I simply offer that it is the artist's job not to prove/solve but to explore and deepen the Mystery.
My Best to You. >W<
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