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, July 18, 2012
Home
To see from where the sky falls learn to hear from the butterflies they'll guide you to a secret bridge to come to mountains my home.
No comments:
Post a Comment