After a long period of numbness
I wake up to cold
feeling more numb.
I think again
if I feel, then why numb?
Numb, I fly
into the clouds.
After a long period of numbness,
I fly.
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.
After a long period of numbness
I wake up to cold
feeling more numb.
I think again
if I feel, then why numb?
Numb, I fly
into the clouds.
After a long period of numbness,
I fly.