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.
I believed prior to this that I would never hear poems and mountains in one breath(apart from an occasional cough) And here you are. This is good work.
Sudeep
ReplyDeleteI believed prior to this that I would never hear poems and mountains in one breath(apart from an occasional cough)
And here you are. This is good work.