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Poem

The valley's call is louder
 than the mountain's peak.
 I fall.
 Fell halfway from the stairway to heaven.
 Here in the realm of the fallen are supple lilies swaying in the evening  breeze
 like ballet dancers.
 Its springs knows how seductive
 to whisper my name.
 Her healing fragrance
 like mother's damp wrapper
 promising to heal my wounds
 leaving no scars behind that haunts.

 The mount stands unmoved
 by my flood of tears
 like a child failing to climb up
 its mother's breast that will not let it.

 Bleeding wounds grace my skin.
 It must be bad blood seeping out
 that makes one a wimp.
 My aching body tangos
 With desires
 Desires priced by pain and ruins
 Ruins of old self knowledge.

 I roam in my thought
 lost in its endless maze.
 No one finds you here.
 I return somehow to the bewitching vale robed with greenery
 like Flora grooms it.
 Its been ages I slept on a thornless bed in the name of passion.
 I fall on broken knees.
 ''Its no use" I muse.
 "I have tried"
 Somehow, I knew I lied.
 I sigh, my eyes
 etherwards
 Without more words.
 Gazing one more time
 at the mount behind
 My callous fingers uproots
 A lily
 Whose flower vase is the skull
 I believed to be brother's who slept here like I want to.
 The enchantment breaks off me.
 Eyes clear,
 I surge towards the mountain
 Like an enraged bull trampling over everything on my path already weedy.
 Ever will remain my soul without rest till I conquer Everest.
 I will never rest
 till I conquer Everest
 and on her breast
 will I weave my nest
 where I shall blow the shofar of  conquest.

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