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
Subjects
I have a dream
to learn the language of smoky water leaving a home reaching me at the river a longing
to teach geography how a longing evolves on surfaces making seas
to sit in a classroom full of weather drawing a longing on graph paper.
Liked this one Sudeep! :) You are a masth wala writer! :D
ReplyDelete