( Written in Spiti, Himachal Pradesh)
Mountains as far as the eye can see,
Range upon range unfolding,
Each one mighty in its Majesty,
But at once part of the whole!
The clouds kiss their feet as they pass,
In obeisance to the mighty ones,
They stare down from their pinnacles white,
At the clouds in lofty disdain!
A few villages scattered across,
Clinging to the sides of the mountains,
A lonely road winds its way through,
Sign of hope in the isolation!
We watch the scene with outsiders' eyes,
Awed by the stark beauty of the place,
For the villager it's daily strife,
At once part of the scene, and against!
I doubt if he thinks its beautiful,
For he is part of the picture
That we see as part of the frame,
The words are merely our description!
Does beauty come into being,
Only when someone perceives it,
Or is it something that's always there,
Only beautiful till it's discovered?