Hills Poem by Mihaela Pirjol

In the tranquillity of the pristine Nature,
The human-soul slips softly into its core:
Searching for itself...searching for God.
Tranquillity drifting into melancholy;
Drifting into retrospection, and introspection,
And subtly, harmonising itself with its Source:
Amalgamating in colours of blue, white, beige,
And patches of green on the sea-shore;
In the humid clime, and the sea-breeze of salt and oleander.
The hills in grey and green are silent, but present,
Indifferent, but observing; constant, but ever changing
In a fraction of second, as the mental thought;
As the sun transient towards twilight,
Changing imperceptibly with the pendulation of time,
Beneath the contrasts of shadows and lights;
Beneath the ever-changing spumous clouds,
And the disposition of the beholder,
That changes the hills themselves:
Every day beholding the pink-golden globe,
Vanishing into an immensity of fluid indigo,
At night, they rest in somnolence, like massive creatures
Clothed in night-gowns of flickering golden lights,
Spread upon the bed of sky
Of argent asterisks and moonlight.
As the line of the horizon blends into the darkness,
The human-soul whispers a prayer to Deities unseen:
A prayer of gratification, which echoes upon the sea,
And mingles with the church's chime
Resounding up the hills...