They scaled the peaks close to the sky
some never to descend
yet some returning to their homes
bore wounds that would not mend
Like rock-hewn graven images
those faces would return
of bodies that the mountain took
to hoard in snowcapped urns
Survivors nightmares can't be quenched
by time or well lived lives
those painful eyes of comrades lost
cut deep like hunting knives
It's said the summit can't be claimed
by those who reach the peak
until they're safely back in camp
by luck or by technique
Yet blessed or cursed, the quest goes on
in those who have succumbed
to mountain fever's virulence
and hell and heaven plumbed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem