The Gift Of Words

An Ode to Darjeeling

I am the wind...
Flowing since the beginning of time
Watching through tranquil eyes
The city of the sleeping buddha

My day begins when sunlight
Reaches out to warm her child
The Kanchanjunga
With her crimson shades
After a cold night

I run through the mountains
Racing the rivers and waterfalls
Thronged by tourists
Passing by hundreds of coloured flags
That try to catch me
While I flow

I brew my morning tea
Among the fresh leaves
That welcome me with excitement
As young girls with glimmering baskets
Pluck from the mountain coat

The train bellows, busses move
In the unusual amalgamation
Of nature and man
Each waiting ocassionally
To stare at the theatrics
Of the snow capped mountains

The evenings I slow
Partaking in the merriment
Singing and dancing
Songs of the mountains
Of love and prosperity
Happiness a part of the locals
Not just a feeling
As they seek blessings
Of the souls of the elders

I watch the endless glimmer
Of the stars across the horizon
As the mountains are alight
With a hundred dreams
That twinkle within their homes
Like a magnificent carpet
Waiting to be rolled by the sunlight

The lullaby of the cicadas
Puts me to sleep
So that I wake again
Anew!

I have seen it all
Yet there is some new for me
Everyday
In this majestic crown
Of the Himalayas...