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.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Absence
She smiles and dances
to the music he plays
from a distance unmeasurable
by those who never loved.
In his absence,
she meets his dreams
No comments:
Post a Comment