THE MOUNTAIN IS NAKED

Once upon the clock

Cockcrows

At the mark of dawn

Sun steps out

And dances with the tree

In translucid garb

Of emerald hair

Covering the branches in their sways

Choreography in sync with the voices of the wind

 

Once upon the clock

The mountain wore a river around its waist

And fishes in there

Are now somewhere

Clogging the mouth of Papa’s basket

Gasping for space

As many more eject to earth

He will continue fishing

As I climb to the summit

Of the mammoth stone

With my hands filled with minor stones

Smooth ones, pebbles

Resting waste by the river side

And when cloud comes within touching frostiness

At the climax

I let loose my rocks

Lone by lone

Into the appetite of the river

Shedding circles

Undulating long away

From the enclaves of sight

Against the rushing current

The sun leaves me there

And papa’s trembling voice

Plucks me down from the pride of the sky

Now upon the clock

The river is soaked in a dust bowl of hunger

And the mountain is unclothed

The lawns have grown gray

From the parched breath of the desert

My pebbles can only drop to bare earth

And Papa’s basket is free

 

 

 

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