Shiwalik

On a cold winter night

When Jack Frost fluttered his eyes

In the first signs of wakefulness

The foothills bowed their fir-lined peaks.

Like tears from the eyes

Of a newly wed bride

The rain fell on the valley

And drenched our dreams.

We dreamt of fiery storms

That left us charred but alive

Our blistered feet unable to feel

The rosebuds underneath.

As we awoke with a start

Unable to grasp the difference

Between dream and reality

Time began to heal us.

Yet the heating and annealing

The hammering and beating

That temper good steel

Is hardly good for human healing.

And so even as we moved on

On cautious, bandaged feet

Our hearts leapt uncaringly

On their own jolly beat.

Where the tides would take us

We alas couldn't tell

But every river does find its way

Into the mighty ocean.