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Mussoorie awakens from frosty slumber, crowned by a sunrise goblet spilling gold, to a day woven from mountain majesty in Dr Amrinder’s poem, exclusively for Different Truths.
The morning wind, the bone-biting chill The receding darkness, the dawning light. A gossamer mist, rising from clefts Modestly veiled, mountain breasts. From behind the peaks, the rising sun, Fringes the spikes, with gilded streaks. At sunrise, the golden goblet perches. Precariously, on a mountaintop to tilt, And spill myriad rays of fine-spun gold. As it gives birth to another amazing, A warm and glorious, hilly winter day. A forest walks on winding paths amidst Gigantic firs, oaks, and Himalayan cedars Whips up an enormous appetite, that, We appease with an enormous breakfast Of omelettes and steaming cups of coffee. Higher ascends the celestial globe to sit, On its golden throne, in clear blue skies And spread the benevolence of its warmth. We peered down into the valley to watch. Vehicles ply like dinky toys on ribbons Of snaking grey roads that cling Precariously to rugged mountainsides. Away from the bustle of the Mall, Down, the path less trodden, we tread Along the length of Camel Back’s Road, Everywhere, as far as the eyes can see, Range upon range of mountain ranges, Encircle Mussoorie, the Queen of Hills. Their ridges and clefts rise and fall like The crests and troughs of ocean waves, Undulations remained in time and space. Some brown and barren, some capped with snow On many slopes, evergreens grow. Their might, their height, their girth, their span, Spell, substance, strength, eternity, and infinity. That put our puny pains, needs and greed In their right perspective. At sunset, the fiery orb mellows and cools. And spreads its benevolence across the sky With exuberant splashes of delightful hues. Before slipping behind a peaked skyline, Leaves behind, an exceptional parting gift, A ‘winter line’ stretched across the horizon A luminance thread sews the edges of Sky and earth together in heavenly bliss, As they kiss and blush, it becomes pink. Passions ignite and flare, crimsoning the line While dusk lowers its curtains, to Ensure privacy for their nuptial delights. However, our winter day in Mussoorie is not over yet. As pearly dusk bathes the mountains Fleetingly, with an ethereal light and Gives way to a crisp, star-studded night, We huddled around a crackling bonfire. While numb fingers cup hot ginger tea, We munch on sweet and juicy corncobs Roasted on red coals and watching the lights, Of the Doon Valley below, twinkle and shine Like a night sky turned upside down before, We finally end this enchanting, kaleidoscopic day To snuggle in cocoons of quilts in heated rooms.
Photo by the poet
