~Paul Rana~
Beside a quietly gurgling mountain stream
High upon a green crested hill I sit,
An open book of poems
Resting upon my knees,
An azure blue sky above,
And God’s little acre spread out below me.
I converse without words
With my friend the mountain wind,
As it teaches techno-dancing to young budding leaves,
Behind me the pinewood forest
Sombre, silent and deep
Not a human soul around, only bird songs for company,
Reigning peace and serenity.
Lilliputian Raipur I can see far below,
Matchbox cottages flowing down the hilly slope,
And beyond -pocket handkerchif of yellow mustard
And golden wheat fields,
Under the winter sun laid out to dry,
A village that gave me birth,
Taught me Nature as well to read
And beside the dark greens
Of the mango and lichi groves,
The perennial river Song as it snakes
Its way south – as far as the eye can see,
Searching tenaciously to join
The mother of all rivers – the reverential Ganga (the Ganges)
In the blessed pagan town of Hari-dwar
Far, faraway.
Paul Rana ,
Dehradun, India
(स्रोत : Pardesh.com)
