Poetic Inhalation

I'm perplexed! My breath chocks as Euterpe, Calliope, Erato, Apollo, and modest Muses leading me Through the refreshingly flooding streams of Antiope To heavens, where I am, like an eagle, endlessly free I can breathe here a frankincense-filled aromatic air. In whose flow my atria-ventricular blocks open Pranayama, whose parikrama in performance is rare It overwhelms, as though the dam of feelings is broken. When talons cannot grab prey, when feathers stick to the chest, When, like an eagle, I meet the challenge of 'do' or 'die' I go to the hills. I struggle the worst and pass my test. In each effort, as though a mother in labour, I sigh. In each poetic breath, I see the Brahman at the helm. Does Brahman see my poems as I wish him to see them?