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Mountains, meditating monks on grassy meadows
The clouds rumbling mantras, in the dark shadows.
The earth watches its breath as it wafts by on the slopes
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And the rain beats a rhythm, cadences of harmony and hope.
Little streams find their way
Amongst the shrubs and the stones
To the Earth’s gaping lips
Its thirst to atone.
</aCarpets of green, laid out in style
All washed and clean, across unending miles.
The trees find mirrors, to look at themselves
They smile at the fishes as they dive and they delve.
And there in the fields, that revel in the rain
Happy hands work together ,their hearts singing again.
The waters that gather, begin their slow journey
Excited they are, thinking of the blue sea.
And in the calm that descends after the downpour
There’s a quiet joy that mends the unravelled core.
This is in response to the prompts on the following link:
http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/2011/06/poetry-potluck-week-41-saints-monks-and.html
nadirafromkannur 