From the hills
I could see my mountain
standing like their elder brother,
and then I went
down into the city
and I saw my mountain
stretching upward like a reminder.
From across the far river
another side of my mountain
speaks a new, strange language,
and even from the sea
my mountain rises up
like the crown some great island.
In the shadow
of my mountain today,
I saw the backs
of workers bent double.
My mountain
startled my eyes this morning
with a pink shawl
around her shoulders,
for yesterday
her garment had been grey.
I think I have seen every color
winking from my mountain's eye,
and at times my mountain,
playing with me,
even disappears,
and it is then
that I see her
the clearest.
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note: this poem is inspired by Mount Diablo in northern California.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Max, all mountains have a spirit - you have captured the image rather well here. Mt Diablo sound akin to our mountian Tibrogargan - a brooding sonambulist awaiting all time to cease. Rgds, Ivan