The Hills

These Hills

These hills,
Earth’s verdant spasms,
Random ranges,
Towering tall,
As guardians of the
Ground below.
They take upon themselves
Lashing rain,
Scorching heat.
Rivers cleave their bodies,
Roads scrape and chisel their skins,
Tunnels pierce through their hearts,
Yet they
Stand solid,
A cool canopy
To their Mother Earth. (Near Manali)

Share this blog: Facebook0Twitter0Google+0LinkedIn0Pinterest0Email

Posted in Causes, Poem by Narinder Jit at April 19th, 2017.
Tags: ,