A night’s flight
touches down
upon the hills,
to halt by the
smoldering logs,
a test of patience
to keep away the chill.
Shyly
the morning sun
shows up,
smiling on the
hills,
the virgin snow,
waiting
innocently
for the celestial
embrace!
An aroma
of the hill flowers
filling
the air,
roused
the breeze
picks up,
those maids
at distance
plucking
the leaves
in the
tea estates,
the small cottages
beckoning,
piping hot cups
of tea,
the ringlets
of steam,
shrouding
my vision,
in which
you descend
you gleam!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your words have brought morning alive. Lovely work, Chhavi. Warm regards, Sandra