Mist On The Hills Of Ipoh - June 2015 Poem by Raj Dronamraju

In the morning, the hills speak, who hears?
Who registers the gurgle of mist sounding like an entertained baby
Gently spreading its hand palm down to touch the hilltops
On an otherwise sunny blue panorama, here's a private moment of nude wilderness in her essence

By afternoon, the spidery emissary has vanished
Mist commutes on subsequent mornings in thin veined envy of true solid matter
Loving dewdrop leaf imprints and grasping people free coolness of earlier tamed nature

Silent rendezvous of waterfall type ghosts with no breeze to hurry their passion
Just above the treeline where the mist stops and hugs original forest without hesitation or reluctance
Knowing as always that this time will be fleeting but they'll melt into each other again tomorrow