Himalaya

Himalaya

O Himalaya, rampart of the realm of Hindustan, The sky bows down to kiss your brow, as is its plan.

No trace of ancient age in you is born, You stand forever young between the dusk and morn.

For Moses on the Mount, one glimpse of holy light, You are a Splendor manifest for all with sight.

A test for common eyes, a mountain you appear, But you're our Sentinel, the wall we hold so dear.

You are a tome whose frontispiece is heaven's height, You pull man's soul toward the heart's own private light.

Snow binds your head with its great Turban of Eminence, A crown that laughs at the sun's own bright magnificence.

All ancient ages are a moment of your past, While in your vales, dark clouds their tented shadows cast.

Your peaks hold speech with stars beyond our mortal ken, Your feet on earth, your home beyond the world of men.

The spring upon your slope, a liquid mirror lies, Wiped by the passing wind that like a kerchief flies.

To urge the steed of wind the riding cloud bestrides, A whip of lightning from your peak the storm provides.

O Himalaya, you are a playground, vast and grand, Created for the elements by Nature's hand.

Ah, how the cloud now sways in overwhelming glee, And like an elephant unchained, it rushes free.

The morning breeze's stir becomes a cradle's gentle sway, And every bud is drunk with life to greet the day.

Its silence speaks aloud from every leafy tongue: "By plucker's hand, my petals never have been wrung."

"My very silence is the story I impart; My sanctuary lies in Nature's secret heart."

A singing stream descends from your majestic height, Making the waves of Kausar and Tasnim seem less bright.

A mirror to the face of Nature, it does seem, Now striking, now avoiding rocks within the stream.

O traveler, play on that heart-enchanting string, The soul of man can understand the song you sing.

When Laila of the Night lets down her flowing hair, The waterfall's sound pulls at the heart caught in its snare.

That evening silence speech itself would die to be, That thoughtful mood that settles over every tree.

The trembling twilight colors on the mountain's face, A lovely rouge that lends your cheek its glowing grace.

O Himalaya, tell a tale of that forgotten age, When your slope became mankind's first earthly stage.

Tell of that simple life, so innocent and plain, Unmarked by the cosmetic of a formal stain.

O, show me, Fantasy, that dawn and dusk once more! O, wheel of time, turn back to days that came before!