"This cauldron like plateau, this mountain range...
All have given me experiences strange...
Perhaps from the moment I opened my eyes
The moment God for me so devised...
That I found in this place every moments of mine
Moments of pleasure, moments of sunshine...
Then also in these caves hidden
Moments of realization coming so sudden...
Moments of losing my lovely morning recluse
Moments of being purely ethereal, bemused...
By someone sitting for me right here
Someone sitting eagerly with loose flowing hair...
Here, if you go around perhaps still find
Caves on which I once wrote my mind
Using a simple twig, burnt by a flame
A few lines written for the prettiest dame
Remember still...how once I drew
A picture of a big forest new
On the pinkish white slab of a stone
Which by the morning light, almost like a picture shone...
And she still alive then, was so pleased by my work
That she left her home at one bluish dark
And sat here for several hours admiring the art
And that was a few days before she did part..."
Saying all these, the sherpa asked from me a bottle
Of my red vintage, as if he was trying to curtail...
His mumblings incoherent... so gray and cold
His story like the big mountains,several years old...
And I got in the sherpa ,a friend wise
A friend who saw it all-the birth and the demise...
Of love, life, savings and passion
Of hunger being suppressed by red bitter potion...
While he took swigs after swigs...
I looked at his fingers resembling dry twigs...
His eyes had crowfeet, his clothes were ragged
But by his vision...he some treasures bagged...
The evening was setting in beyond the hill...
Coldness biting had all the chill,
Me and my friend, the sherpa old
Still sat there, like stones bold...
I looked at the sky so unfamiliar
Saw how purple did the black horizon tear...
Saw the big yaks returning home
Distant hills looked like some tall grave tombs...
Moments thus passed, almost liquid drops
Meanwhile my friend had dozed off
But could still hear his indistinct murmur
He was talking then of tracks near and far...
By his subconscious, he could still tell
Which road led to the hill, which to the crevice fell...
I sat there, as the dark night came to cover all
I sat up there, like a tired explorer with an empty bottle...
The bottle of my red vintage strong
The bottle which I brought with me filled and young...
Now, under the open dark sky, with mountains on guard
Felt like, having crossed all barriers...living life unbarred...
So by my friend, the sherpa, under the open sky
I prepared for the night, finally,to lie...
Knowing tomorrow would be just another day
Knowing tomorrow for us roads there lay...
Roads going up and down the hills and mountains
Roads far away from the city of the plains
Roads opening up to the unlimited vast
Road to the heaven there... yet to be traversed
All have given me experiences strange...
Perhaps from the moment I opened my eyes
The moment God for me so devised...
That I found in this place every moments of mine
Moments of pleasure, moments of sunshine...
Then also in these caves hidden
Moments of realization coming so sudden...
Moments of losing my lovely morning recluse
Moments of being purely ethereal, bemused...
By someone sitting for me right here
Someone sitting eagerly with loose flowing hair...
Here, if you go around perhaps still find
Caves on which I once wrote my mind
Using a simple twig, burnt by a flame
A few lines written for the prettiest dame
Remember still...how once I drew
A picture of a big forest new
On the pinkish white slab of a stone
Which by the morning light, almost like a picture shone...
And she still alive then, was so pleased by my work
That she left her home at one bluish dark
And sat here for several hours admiring the art
And that was a few days before she did part..."
Saying all these, the sherpa asked from me a bottle
Of my red vintage, as if he was trying to curtail...
His mumblings incoherent... so gray and cold
His story like the big mountains,several years old...
And I got in the sherpa ,a friend wise
A friend who saw it all-the birth and the demise...
Of love, life, savings and passion
Of hunger being suppressed by red bitter potion...
While he took swigs after swigs...
I looked at his fingers resembling dry twigs...
His eyes had crowfeet, his clothes were ragged
But by his vision...he some treasures bagged...
The evening was setting in beyond the hill...
Coldness biting had all the chill,
Me and my friend, the sherpa old
Still sat there, like stones bold...
I looked at the sky so unfamiliar
Saw how purple did the black horizon tear...
Saw the big yaks returning home
Distant hills looked like some tall grave tombs...
Moments thus passed, almost liquid drops
Meanwhile my friend had dozed off
But could still hear his indistinct murmur
He was talking then of tracks near and far...
By his subconscious, he could still tell
Which road led to the hill, which to the crevice fell...
I sat there, as the dark night came to cover all
I sat up there, like a tired explorer with an empty bottle...
The bottle of my red vintage strong
The bottle which I brought with me filled and young...
Now, under the open dark sky, with mountains on guard
Felt like, having crossed all barriers...living life unbarred...
So by my friend, the sherpa, under the open sky
I prepared for the night, finally,to lie...
Knowing tomorrow would be just another day
Knowing tomorrow for us roads there lay...
Roads going up and down the hills and mountains
Roads far away from the city of the plains
Roads opening up to the unlimited vast
Road to the heaven there... yet to be traversed
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