#himalayas - Hello Poetry

Who can get out the charm the belle of the chilled glacial waters of heavenly sapphire love dipped, sanctity filled Mansarovar..... I sat beside them which impervious to express like the occult hallucinations of one compelled me to sob To cry beside the waters not on my sins but on my known viles.

0

Oct 19, 2020

Oct 19, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC

Hrishikesh123

Sobing Beside Mansarovar

Who can get out the charm the belle of the chilled glacial waters of heavenly sapphire love dipped, sanctity filled Mansarovar..... I sat beside them which impervious to express like the occult hallucinations of one compelled me to sob To cry beside the waters not on my sins but on my known viles.

12

For days I wandered In the mountains green, white & brown Drinking from cold water streams Eating berries & watching slugs Sharing my tent with people from strange lands Walking steep trails & lighting camp fires Waking with sun & gazing at snow mountains Sadly I walk down from heaven Back to humanity all alone Wondering what I found in nature That I couldn't find in people

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Sep 25, 2019

Sep 25, 2019 at 2:59 AM UTC

dinnu93

Wanderer

For days I wandered In the mountains green, white & brown Drinking from cold water streams Eating berries & watching slugs Sharing my tent with people from strange lands Walking steep trails & lighting camp fires Waking with sun & gazing at snow mountains Sadly I walk down from heaven Back to humanity all alone Wondering what I found in nature That I couldn't find in people

11

As an ice River flower The locals Say it was from the gods And goddesses Of the Himalayan Mountain For each peak Is the home of either. So when you see a river Think where it came from

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Aug 31, 2019

Aug 31, 2019 at 7:04 AM UTC

Starry89

A rive flows through

As an ice River flower The locals Say it was from the gods And goddesses Of the Himalayan Mountain For each peak Is the home of either. So when you see a river Think where it came from

10

In lue of a sun The rises in a triangle A piece of fruit Over the simu Himalayas Harolding The day And The best time For pictures.

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Aug 28, 2019

Aug 28, 2019 at 9:14 PM UTC

Starry89

Fruit sun

In lue of a sun The rises in a triangle A piece of fruit Over the simu Himalayas Harolding The day And The best time For pictures.

9

I was there when We All saw the UFO float over Mount Everest All of us where Shazed and amazed As we pointed it out To eachother. Then..... It disappears.

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Aug 20, 2019

Aug 20, 2019 at 9:13 AM UTC

Starry89

UFO

I was there when We All saw the UFO float over Mount Everest All of us where Shazed and amazed As we pointed it out To eachother. Then..... It disappears.

9

I found the sky beneath my horizon I flew to the plains majestic and vast I rang the bells of the god in the mountains I breathed the air of the valley enchanting I saw the wanderers throught their quest and thirst I saw the men fall for the valleys at dusk Ive seen the love that grows beneath the trees Like the shadowed cloud on a monsoon eve I felt the drench and the drops so hard And the mother river flowing very deep and far I had no doubts And I also believed I was still curious I was still keen I had to wander I had to dream!!

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Jan 30, 2019

Jan 30, 2019 at 11:30 PM UTC

Ruch

What you wander

I found the sky beneath my horizon I flew to the plains majestic and vast I rang the bells of the god in the mountains I breathed the air of the valley enchanting I saw the wanderers throught their quest and thirst I saw the men fall for the valleys at dusk Ive seen the love that grows beneath the trees Like the shadowed cloud on a monsoon eve I felt the drench and the drops so hard And the mother river flowing very deep and far I had no doubts And I also believed I was still curious I was still keen I had to wander I had to dream!!

13

*you are like the great mountain in my heart, distant, elusive in a snowstorm, melting, gushing, a stream apart, alone melancholic among snail glide clouds, fading ****** of the shepherd's call, you are like the great mountain in my heart...*

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Jan 11, 2018

Jan 11, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC

snehith-kumbla

for you

*you are like the great mountain in my heart, distant, elusive in a snowstorm, melting, gushing, a stream apart, alone melancholic among snail glide clouds, fading ****** of the shepherd's call, you are like the great mountain in my heart...*

15

"Wet Man" Wet man walking in the clouds In the Himalayas dripping nectar Of the gods upon all equally Monkeys and monks travel purposefully To buddhahood One compassionate moment at a time Who arrives first? The answer is nearer when We see the question as Irrelevant

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Nov 28, 2017

Nov 28, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC

mark-wanless

Wet Man

"Wet Man" Wet man walking in the clouds In the Himalayas dripping nectar Of the gods upon all equally Monkeys and monks travel purposefully To buddhahood One compassionate moment at a time Who arrives first? The answer is nearer when We see the question as Irrelevant

11

the Himalayas rise there is snow on the peaks I watch it from my bed I gaze and gaze at it in the morning as a little village girl goes by sniffling with cold I too am cold it is chilly here in Tosh in May but a young Israeli boy took off his shirt and stood on the fencepost of the guesthouse dancing down was the deep green valley all of us watched in admiration the next day I went down to the waterfall which from here is a beautiful whisper in the air there are donkeys and a path and pretty houses on the other side of the valley and everywhere there are people smoking hash and relaxing in the cafes and the guesthouses it is almost like a pilgrimage smokers keep coming and sit around smoking talking I pull down my woollen cap my arms and back feel the chill despite a thick sweater despite a blanket and a four inch thick quilt I roll my joints and smoke them alone sometimes smoke them with others I look at the hills and the valleys and the wooden houses I look at the white peaks glowing in the sun and talk about CCR and stained glass art with Michael from Norfolk who’s going down the valley to another village for a party tonight with his young Spanish friend I talk about Bombay with Puneet and Manya from Kanpur who’ve come here on a Bullet Hash Heaven Manya says reading my mind as the joint passes on to the four engineering interns from Delhi and all the time I sip on ginger lemon honey for my sore throat until on the last day it disappears unlike the young Israeli girl’s pink laptop in a pink cover found by the part time caretaker in the garden on a pink chair she left behind last night because it was too dark come again the guesthouse boys say to me as I pay them what a scene I think how cool as I begin to leave the village down the dung-clotted stone steps nodding to the smokers coming in.

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Jun 7, 2017

Jun 7, 2017 at 11:13 PM UTC

indian-hippie

From My Window Here In Tosh

the Himalayas rise there is snow on the peaks I watch it from my bed I gaze and gaze at it in the morning as a little village girl goes by sniffling with cold I too am cold it is chilly here in Tosh in May but a young Israeli boy took off his shirt and stood on the fencepost of the guesthouse dancing down was the deep green valley all of us watched in admiration the next day I went down to the waterfall which from here is a beautiful whisper in the air there are donkeys and a path and pretty houses on the other side of the valley and everywhere there are people smoking hash and relaxing in the cafes and the guesthouses it is almost like a pilgrimage smokers keep coming and sit around smoking talking I pull down my woollen cap my arms and back feel the chill despite a thick sweater despite a blanket and a four inch thick quilt I roll my joints and smoke them alone sometimes smoke them with others I look at the hills and the valleys and the wooden houses I look at the white peaks glowing in the sun and talk about CCR and stained glass art with Michael from Norfolk who’s going down the valley to another village for a party tonight with his young Spanish friend I talk about Bombay with Puneet and Manya from Kanpur who’ve come here on a Bullet Hash Heaven Manya says reading my mind as the joint passes on to the four engineering interns from Delhi and all the time I sip on ginger lemon honey for my sore throat until on the last day it disappears unlike the young Israeli girl’s pink laptop in a pink cover found by the part time caretaker in the garden on a pink chair she left behind last night because it was too dark come again the guesthouse boys say to me as I pay them what a scene I think how cool as I begin to leave the village down the dung-clotted stone steps nodding to the smokers coming in.

44

My shoe bit my skin He pulled me up We walked the snow Singing; foot on foot. The home out of sight He hardly felt his lungs But we wanted to be home And read My Brother Jack. He plucked a cloud Whispered a wish Drew a diabolic smile, "Some other day"

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Feb 16, 2016

Feb 16, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC

Gaye

Mountain home

My shoe bit my skin He pulled me up We walked the snow Singing; foot on foot. The home out of sight He hardly felt his lungs But we wanted to be home And read My Brother Jack. He plucked a cloud Whispered a wish Drew a diabolic smile, "Some other day"

12

Dal Lake I float on Dal Lake Suspended between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers water lilies, Kashmiri bread and the Muslim prayers that penetrate the hardness of war chanting Allah Bismallah Floating Islam Holy words drenching the air Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle 9 years of war 1,000 houseboats lie empty in the Himalayan fog Intricately carved furniture Thick with dust and the powder of blood and bullets Himalayan silhouette etched black against the song of lotus gatherers Foggy voices like cloud of moon Lotus lake Gray of war and desperation Children beg 1 rupee 1 rupee 1 rupee Endless monologue Parched like lotus shaped paddle They throw flowers to me endlessly I throw them back endlessly Time passes slowly like smoke on a lizard’s tail trailing in the thick, rancid air of burning meat and maple leaves Like a shikara moving over the glass of Kashmir The sound of a dozen Bangees floating over the water Hollow, solemn and mournful Echoing against the hardness of the surrounding mountains The circle of Himalayas Like a womb around the prayers of Pachin In the middle of the lake I hear the call to prayer Azan Nemarz Suba Azan Nemarz Pashin Azan Nemarz Degar Azan Nemarz Sham Azan Nemarz Koftan From dawn till dusk Azan 4 mosques 4 singers 4 directions staggered by a breath like an imperfect echo Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque They want to go home to their wives and children They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs The place of prayer, which has seen death The place where God was pushed out In order to not see the killing To **** what they don’t see The place, which was no longer a refuge Outside Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils cooking in a dented metal *** In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice and throw scraps into the silver water where it washes up onto the ***** boots of a soldier I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle as it touches the ground The prayers have ended

0

Aug 13, 2014

Aug 13, 2014 at 3:34 PM UTC

jeff-raheb

Dal Lake

Dal Lake I float on Dal Lake Suspended between the thick soupy crisp air of soldiers water lilies, Kashmiri bread and the Muslim prayers that penetrate the hardness of war chanting Allah Bismallah Floating Islam Holy words drenching the air Drenching the green cloth of Hindu soldiers Sliding down the cool metal of a rifle 9 years of war 1,000 houseboats lie empty in the Himalayan fog Intricately carved furniture Thick with dust and the powder of blood and bullets Himalayan silhouette etched black against the song of lotus gatherers Foggy voices like cloud of moon Lotus lake Gray of war and desperation Children beg 1 rupee 1 rupee 1 rupee Endless monologue Parched like lotus shaped paddle They throw flowers to me endlessly I throw them back endlessly Time passes slowly like smoke on a lizard’s tail trailing in the thick, rancid air of burning meat and maple leaves Like a shikara moving over the glass of Kashmir The sound of a dozen Bangees floating over the water Hollow, solemn and mournful Echoing against the hardness of the surrounding mountains The circle of Himalayas Like a womb around the prayers of Pachin In the middle of the lake I hear the call to prayer Azan Nemarz Suba Azan Nemarz Pashin Azan Nemarz Degar Azan Nemarz Sham Azan Nemarz Koftan From dawn till dusk Azan 4 mosques 4 singers 4 directions staggered by a breath like an imperfect echo Azan slips into the pockets of island soldiers Waters the impatience of soldiers on the shore Steals into the vacant eyes of soldiers in the Mosque They want to go home to their wives and children They want to leave the place of prayer, which is not theirs The place of prayer, which has seen death The place where God was pushed out In order to not see the killing To **** what they don’t see The place, which was no longer a refuge Outside Dal Lake turns to the color of red lentils cooking in a dented metal *** In the Shikara boat we eat dal and rice and throw scraps into the silver water where it washes up onto the ***** boots of a soldier I hear the dull gray click, click of his rifle as it touches the ground The prayers have ended

81