Every moment does the weather change,
And so does the heaven and sky
For its monsoon in the mountainland,
Where the boldest eagles fly.

The mountains are vast and spread,
Their peak hidden behind white clouds.
They are distinguished from the surroundings,
Like noble men from poor crowds.

In a moment, there is a thunderstorm,
Thick fog reigns supreme in another.
No one can predict the weather there,
Not even the soothsayer's big brother.

The mountains see their image
In the emerald lake of lies
And take pride in their stature,
Through their million flower eyes.

Mountainlands have cascades,
From where the water flows,
Singing the glories of the mountain
Before which the highest cloud bows.

The mountains keep their heads high,
Till the final calamities come,
Sanctioned by heaven in order to break
The largest of mountains until they succumb.

These mountains are like human minds,
That take too much pride in themselves.
Who will tell these childish men that they
Are one of the many books on God's shelves.


© Random Legionary (Rudraksh)