harp with 33 strings

innumerable miniature bliss bubbles explode
illuminating fully the head ovoid 
methinks dear heart, we’ve struck the mother lode
reality as we once knew it is destroyed 

the Bindu point becomes the source of God’s power
crystallised within feeble form 
Divine Mother plays the harp along our supple spine
with the will of God we conform
Copyright © | Year Posted 2024

Poem

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