The boy on the hill
In a rural thread bound cape;
sat and looked as if succumbed the feel,
distressing however, was only his body’s shape.
Among the greens and hanging cherry beans,
everything looked like a clammy desire.
The air of the ride was bona fide and clean,
as i drove towards the sky and its only fire.
I had never been so close to myself,
so placid and unfettered.
The hill top was my terminus and to reach required no help,
except the mist and the petrichor which only mattered.
My thoughts were fathoming their words.
As I sat on my seat glancing at the grandeur unseen,
i wondered what beauty it is with no guards.
Nothing compares, if done - a mistake must have been.
The beholder devoid of beauty
laid eyes on the young mountains and wasn’t shy.
I travelled so far to be with it- calling it my duty,
wings perhaps now the only desire – only if i could fly.
The wind was enchanted - the ground wet with divine tears,
the heart of a traveller that waves good bye,
can only sense the agony it bears.
This poem touched me.