Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Hills come, and they derive equations on the soul
Of human passivity, an exact thought can be derived.
Hills tower over humans like the forbidding jungle,
Raised to the sky in sudden pleasure so kind.
Hills bellow like fed stomachs so ruinous to touch,
For the green grass has erupted from the volcano.
Hill after hill is worn by the traveller or adventurer,
One of them dives, and the other climbs hills.
And so the hill of green beauty clung to the river,
The banks of the righteous stream shook shivering.
One tear is a bland affair for the hills that roam inwardly,
It is crying for them, it is crying for the hell of the hill.
It astonishes the mind, with crews of angry blasts,
And so the storm arrives dauntingly to shake the branches.
The rainy season decides that to these hills is grand
Highness, a hint of mince, as the tomorrow is illness.
Topic(s) of this poem: hill