When the winds blow in the mountains, they create a music with the river and leaves of deodar, oaks and pines. A man never thinks of poetry, but observes it, feels it. The words do not exist then, only music. The soul of the mountains one cannot capture in pages. I have only tried to write about the music, and a little more from elsewhere. Mountains send the winds to other places too.
Hey nice one Sudeep...but if u elaborate little bit more then it would be more nice…
ReplyDeletethanks anita.. somehow, i could not extend it further.. that would take away the essence of these 4 lines
ReplyDeletesudeep, you have turned into a master of short poems.read this earlier, reread it and loved it once again.
ReplyDeletethank u philo :)
ReplyDeleteit's so beautiful your poems again and again and again...
ReplyDeleteshort and sweet :)
Meant will read them again and again and again...
ReplyDelete:)shukriya!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteyeah like everyone did, i too read it before.....and reread it...so very beautiful..like a fairytale...
ReplyDelete