Years and years have passed, since I had visited those
mighty peaks
unkempt roads chiseled out of the flesh of the mountains
took me to views the world of men weren’t meant to see
Yet they must, for it shows what the world was meant to be
The path was treacherous and the journey tiresome
but is beauty still worth it if not allowed to be seen?
Yet to be seen it had to be defiled
A cost, in my heart I knew was not completely justified
Sky unlike the one defiled by the demands of economics
Innocent sky, crisp blue young like an infant just awoken
with hovering clouds casting black baby shadows upon sunlit
mountains
Clouds, whose paths are blocked by heights reaching out to
the skies
Along the way one passes by a stream taking a stroll upon
the landscape
making its way to the riffles rapids and rivers
Rivers so clean the word “shining” was inadequate
and so “shimmering” and “glistening” were created to honor
the rivers
Beneath such streams some rocks are seen
with each wave changing the shape of the sight
the rock bloats and shrinks, giving the impression of
breaths
who is to say, in the Himalayas the rocks aren’t alive?
Do the dead hills not steal soil from rains tinkering down
the slopes?
Did they not help the trees to grow high?
Trees, whose roots holds the mountain soil together
Allowing itself to prosper, and the mountain to stand the
rains
And to those who claim to not have seen the winds
I beseech them to turn to the Himalayas
Every valley howls along when the wild winds pass by
and every leaf, speck of dust, ripple, and river breathes of
visible wind
And when the mountain winds blow even the deserts shall
tremble
as each growth of moss and green striving for decades
shall be buried in sand for centuries to come
and those shall see shall shiver at the might the mountain
wind brings
And no city has ever known, darkness as it was meant to be
seen
when the river of stars lights up above the rush of the one
below
Complete darkness of lights and sound and thought and
difference
for you are one with the mountain and the mountain is one
with you
The vastness encapsulates you, making you one of her own
as it stretches out endless and boundless like the sea
For the mountains know no borders and acknowledge no might
yet petty creatures draw maps with chalk dividing the
undeterred high
Not every bit was as beautiful, not every brown shined gold
in twilight
some were rickety rocky and stony, reminding us of perils
Dangers the mountains underwent themselves, and posed to
anyone who dared
Reminding, that might and shine come from struggle
The story struggle of the Himalayas is written in small
stony rocks
Formed when the mountains tore through the womb of the Earth
and the rivers carving over thousands of years
making passes and valleys, allowing humanity to prosper and
progress
Years and years have passed, since I had visited those
mighty peaks
and perhaps I did not take those moments along with me
Perhaps I left a bit of myself, in a spectacular mountain
moment
In horde to steal a little life from a moment, I left a bit
of my life in it
So come to the Himalayas and ponder the world as it was
meant to be
and bring your children so they may be allowed to see
what a “blue sky” means and the wonders that in natural beauty
be
and then, perhaps, in life they shall remember to preserve
what now flees
Vishal Gupta
9 Nov 2017
