In his dreams the Vally in the throes of efflorescence call out in a language heart alone understands; from the hanging bridge over Ganga, he views the ice-capped peaks, Vally's ***** extravagance and the river's turbulence.
The river runs too deep, at times he finds, the currents treacherously strong, from the window of his *Ashram, the view is clear. She bathes naked, alone on a step submerged in water, eyes feast on her moonlit curves, the pleasures skin deep, camouflage the existential dilemmas ! he smiles In memory his Guru speaks:"Eat only those fruits that make one immortal" Yet another Himalayan journey in search of the fruit tree unknown
It's too late to redefine, life and love when the avalanche thunders above on his lonesome path, every step uphill is fraught with slippery stones, one way leads to the top, to bathe in the light of the star reaching down
Some days end in too long nights, too cold, the sun shows up hesitant, her body has the warmth that reaches to his icy depths, a ****** alone could penetrate, but it still wouldn't melt Himalayan silence, chant of Ganga, the ghost of a ****** that follows him like a faithful dog, are all these fragments of a dream or realities stringed together from many different planes?