The ground trembles the slightest,
The base stands strong,
The peak quivers a bit;
The mountain sheds a pebble
To acknowledge the shift.
Down rolls the pebble
Towards his mother – Earth.
The raging winds ease his fall
As he stoops to gentle winds;
Halts by his fallen kin.
Meets his brother long departed;
He talks of the weak sky that changed colours
As the suns started to rise,
His brother of the strong climbers doing ditto
As their sons started to set.
The Valley ‘tween another mountain and theirs
Lost herself in the two brothers’ talk,
The clouds, the sly and the straight,
Found mention as and along
With the joys and travails of men.
A ragged old man is in the distance,
His brother stops talking,
He is dazed and the Valley hides;
His brother warns him of the man,
Doom the man is, his brother says.
The man was a strange trader,
Foraging stone to barter a coin;
Stones that make the grand monuments
Or stones that are crushed into sand,
And coin that keeps him foraging.
The strange trader starts his strangeness,
He and his brother keeps mum.
The man picks the quiet stones first,
A few more fallen pebbles and he walks;
The Valley? She sobs without a tear.
The image used in the poem are copyrighted by Chunuranjan Dutta
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© A. D. Konwar | nailapost.wordpress.com | 2016