Some times mind turns into a tough mountain.
Sharp boulders stare stern from the cliff.
Small pieces of rock strewn all around,
History sleeps here in bits of jigsaw puzzles
Here and there, scanty grasses sprout.
Greenery of thoughts peep out once again.
A potion of a verse pours down from nowhere
Streaming through rocky terrain, to scenic valley
Suddenly when time retreats into silence
Leaving stretch marks on the rocks
Fossil of thoughts lie buried in the fathoms of hardness.
Waiting for a deciphering hand brush
When first rain drops of grace befall
Blue bell flowers of aesthetics sprout every where
The mountain turns blue, in a veil of mystery
An aroma of fresh bamboo shoots raise in the air.
It was here the first sermon was delivered
Divinity stoops down in heavenly splendor
His serene subtle voice of confidence echoes;
Penetrates beyond time, as guiding light for sheep.