THE MOUNTAINS

 The destitute mountains

Longed

To slumber in the meadows

To see the dandelions

Lay their soft heads

Upon their uneven slopes

Instead of bearing 

Looks of submission and fear

Everytime

The wind blew them 

Bare and hollow. 

They wanted to run wild

With the young fawns

When they ran from the storm

They wanted to be defeated

When the raindrops made

The strongest of leaves 

Fall

Yet their feet were shackled 

To the earth

Built out of ruined things

Buried for they were too shameful.

They wished to be free

From the agonising grandeur

They were endowed with

They wanted to sing

But the storms cut their canyons wide

So that they could only roar.

Their edges were cut

Cut and made sharp

Their tears would run so loud

The world would know 

The mountains were crying.

They succumb

To the river

That divided them

And their kins 

Ever since 

Time learnt to walk free

They wish to lay down

And spread their arms

To grasp 

All the beauty of this earth 

Instead of guarding

The cave within escarpments

The Gateways of 

Loneliness

Strength

Bondage.

They sigh

When they see stormbirds

Fly to the sun

They say

The pines 

Staked through our hearts

Grow in your nurture 

Everyday

As strangers

Seek homage within our worn hearts

We are lighted

With a lone fire.

Burn us

Till we drown

In the river that divided us

So that we can lay to slumber.

We can lay to slumber.

We have been standing too long.

We know

That in the End lies destruction 

And in the Beginning 

Lies 

The Prison of Anticipation

We wish to sleep in that wonderful place

Lying in between

Let us slumber.