Monday, January 10, 2011
O Thee, why aren't those white clouds drifting,
instead dangling over your shoulders.
Blue waters beneath, sky grey above,
is this by design?
Ah, that dilapidated stairway,
from the fine sand to the land,
augment the ambience than anything else.
Is there a greater motive?
Why are you, O Mountain, daubed in green,
Who chose that color for thy gigantic bulge,
Is that haze near the peak,
a ruse of yours or those white billow's?
As my eyes devour thy beauty, my body shivers in joy.
Bedecked like a cosmic bride,
Are you running for a beauty contest?
You may win all the pelf of human kind