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.
Beautiful!
ReplyDeleteu jus hav to start writing n it turns out 2 b beautiful!!!!! actually beautiful is an understatment...
ReplyDeleteflattered really i am :) thank u mukul, shibani :)
ReplyDelete