A Song In Prussian Blue

Let me write a song

In my ink of Prussian blue

Of these hills and mountains

Where eagles make love

And trees fight the sun.

Here, leaves are martyrs

Dying glorious deaths

Of love and longings;

They fail and fall

In the battles for their beloveds.

In the cold of the night,

The darkness falls in love

With the looming silence

Of the spiralling peaks,

Under the span of a million stars.

On those days,

When the chaos of my urban life

Chases my trail, I flee the artifice

Of sophistication and the modern

To come home to this rawness.

Under the feet of these mighty mountains

I drop the sack of my cluttered life

And then I sit and dig a pit

Inside the dunes of my mind

To bury the fog of my brain.

Into the pit

Goes my thoughts:

Every memory that chokes me

I shroud them all without a care

For their sprout or their shoot.