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Of  moving outside our comfort zones
Would you think to meet your echoes?
By hiding in the mountains there are choices:

To turn your back on what you have become,
A wander goat or a missionary bird?

To embrace the fear of knowing that you can go beyond,

To hold your breath, bring the mountain into routine being.

Don’t we all have our mountains to climb,
believe it or not
When we do, the view is amazing
by/Angel. XJ
Marisa 5d
coming back to you like the rain revisits time and time again
washing over your valleys and mountaintops

little by little your layers disappear
you are left a clean surface
your forgotten shimmering through

and every layer you’ve ever had is shed, a second skin
everything you’ve ever feared spills out from your ears
and every summit you’ve climbed peeks out at your belly
every wound you’ve suffered shimmers from underneath the surface
oceans of tears like puddles filling up your collarbones to the brim

you’re a landscape full of forgotten things
If these mountains..
Could speak, would they say it was about to snow.
Would they talk about trees and bees,
Or about snow flake dreams.
About the golden winter sun,
Or the gentle winds that make music.
Would they tell if the time that stood still,
Or the time that stopped for none.
Would they speak of mysterious enchanting nights,
Or whisper stories of starry nights.
Only if these mountains could speak!
The raging river tears apart
Mighty Himalayas’ sturdy frame
It pierces the mountain’s rocky heart
Burgeons, to fertilise the plains.

The mist conspires with the clouds
To pour down on the foothills weak
Which crumble across the hilly terrain
To break the traveller’s winning streak.


Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved
14/07/2019
old willow May 12
Taking a stroll through the mountains with my friend,
We saw a peony, its petal glitter in specks of snow,
Buds that were the blossoms of springs.
That day we questioned the flowers,
But the flowers do not speak.
Alas, our questions remained unanswered.
Tangerine May 4
𝑔𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈
𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹
𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓌𝓁 𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓉𝓈
𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈
𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉
Valentin May 3
I am looking for you since you left
I go above the mountains
I try to have a clear vision
Through the fog and clouds

I shout at the summit
I shout at the summit
Only my echo resonates
I cry until my body gets dry
My heart is drowning in my tears
My heart becomes the blue planet

I remember again and again
Above those mountains I hope to find you
My head on your lap
You pass your hand through my hair
When the flight is delayed forever
I fall asleep on your lap and now
Before I sleep you are in my eyes

Above these mountains is the safe place
Silence goes into me and I see you
Wind whispering something I can't distinguish
Beyond the horizon you are here
Beyond the horizon you are inaccessible

Because you don't see me
My tears are yours
Because you left me
My tears are yours
Because you are far from me
My tears are yours
Because I will still be looking for you
My tears are yours
05.03.20
tao Apr 28
Off the distant peaks,
in the heart of valley stirs,
the sound of mountains.
Oliver Bishop Apr 18
I have been memorized by winding dirt
doorways that led me to fantasy. Magical
forest -- it’s funny how simplistic we
name places when we’re children. Overgrown

rhododendrons surrounded me, my hands
plucked leaves off and ripped them mindlessly,
leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail of
torn chlorophyll. So monochrome

without their flowers; my mind painted
perfect, pink orbs onto green. A brown thrasher
flew by, or maybe a hummingbird.
I stared at the light dispersed

sporadically through branches, particles
floating and falling, gentle. Nearby,
I glanced at crocodile rock in the river.
My imagination was good at transforming

the static to life; shapes had more
personality. I tiptoed onto the slippery
surface, stepping on its mouth,
triumphant. Animal planet taught me

that their jaw is only strong when closing
and incredibly weak when opening.
I stood on the beast, and felt safe, strong,
running my fingertips on its bumpy scales.

Now, I see a large rock. I see empty
branches. I still hear birds, but
they’re hidden, my mind unable
to conjure up a flock. I see reality.
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