Alexander Pope III

Thunderstorm and rain

New Town for me, New Mountain Range

Everything was so magical and strange

You and your innocent smile

One look at you is enough to fuel, my run of a thousand mile

No mountain can be happy without rain

Beauty of morning in the mountains is so difficult to explain

Mountain is also an ardent admirer of the Moon

If Mountain is happy, no traveler can be allowed to sleep at noon

While living on Mountain, there was always a brilliant shine in your eye

I always thought you are a spirit, who appeared from the sky

The way you used to walk and talk

I spied on you like Sherlock

Never sad, never showing any mood swing

Maybe because you were a divine something

Living with bison and mountain tiger

Every weekend exploring the jungle with your father

Standing beneath every waterfall

In winters hiding behind a very thin Kashmiri shawl

You boasted of watching most sunrise and sunset

From a mountain top, not even one-tenth of Everest

The expert commentator on shrubs and flowers

Telling their curing power for hours

Knowing every river and lake

Glorifying every village of jungle dwellers and harmless snake

Slow cycling on the zigzag road

Always in full happiness mode

Laughing with every detractor

Sometimes I thought of you as a versatile actor

Trying every moment to be with friends

Very fast to make amends

But whatever is begotten and born, always die

That happy world soon disappeared behind the sky

I always wondered which town or city is hiding you

Does your face pop up on Facebook or Yahoo

Which songs are you singing

Million things about you I was thinking

I wear terrible clothes and grew very fat

Since we last met

You will be shocked and surprised to see me

But except for appearance, do not fear the new me

You may not like the way I grew old

Not half as lively and bold

Hope you still shine as silver and gold

Do you fly a plane or make heaven of someone’s household?

With dim eyes, I still see your face in the crowd of stars

You are the biggest part of my memoir

If any old friend talks about me or someone like me

Never rush for contacting me

My soul aged with my skin and bone

My lungs fight the battle of breathing alone

I have made a cathedral of you in mind

Where I will worship all my friends , when I will turn blind

I sing your name like a song

But my voice is feeble and not so strong

Only because of your absence, I became so old

Now you will never see me young and bold

No one has the key to their own mind

Yet what you always thought of me I will try and find

I could never get rid of my pain

My life was brutal hot summer,you came as thunderstorm and icy rain