What lies ahead.

What lies ahead.


Dusk was on, the mist spread.
November cold seeped in and around.
The non-AC rental car slowed
on the highway, the view blurred.


The road seemed unending, meandering,
beautiful and bothersome, keeping us alert
like events in life mixing tears and smiles,
like waves in the sea rushing without a stop,
like the gossamer snow-flakes of winter
gently landing on the leaf-covered ground.


The moon hung big, illumining
the whole wide world; the path ahead,
every bush, tree, valley and hill.
The journey went twisting, bending
and crossing silver drenched fields
and sleep-laden, silent hamlets.


The morning brought us to the top
thousands of feet above sea and civilization.
There lay the famous lake, favored by spirits
and lamas alike, its silence magical,
its purity legendary, enshrouded in the mist
pierced now and again by the golden sun
letting us glimpses of the great Himalayas
rising high to touch the sky wrapped in white radiance.




Dropnote ▼

Lines:24

Prompt: Picture of a mountain road.

Written for Spirits at Lighthouses Contest hosted by Beacon's Anchor

August, 2022.

Lama is a title for a teacher of the Dharma or righteous life in Tibetan Buddhism.