Missing You, O Hills

Ah, to be at the cool wet hills— Now that Sun's here ‘pon me in planes Who its stern enough face reveals, And soon be at peak of its pains, I think of Queen of Southern Peaks Whose shadowy hills and valleys No more drenched be with wet, wet leaks, And far off be rainy rallies. April when goes forth, May follows, Black-throats build nests at tea gardens, Follows when a swarm of swallows, Rain-rich earth when a tad hardens, Flocks of new feathers not ere seen Land, blossoms of spring to cherish, Cuckoos, thrashes sing twice as keen, Nature obliges to man's wish. Ah to be at the hills, amidst Its dales and vales looking their best, Gossamer fog gone with the mist, When weather is at its modest, And mornings wake up not too late, When the days seem to linger on, Freedom there's from woollies to don, End seems in sight of year-long wait. And heavenly amidst such scene, Bedecked are hills as Beauty Queen. _____________________________________________________ Wellington, Nilgiri hills where I spent ten weeks, soaking in its milieu— rainy chills at peak and sun not showing for days. Yet, a few years later, weak monsoon and strong sun reminded me of the hills again. Indeed, man always wants what is not. _____________________________________________________ Musings | 09.08.11 |