by Tessa Dummett, United Kingdom
Sharing with you a poem that one of our potential guests (a poetess) wrote anticipating this morning her visit to our part of the Himalayas
Chunnu ran through the hills
pockmarked with the tingling of Tibetan bells
Her feet brushing the sounds of the crickets lying dormant
in the morning mist before their wake up morning calls.
My alarm shrills inside my head
and the mountains invite me to unknown territory.
Chunnu assures me I will be happy there
and I clutch on to the fading morning mist
as London sultry morning breaks
whilst I frame it with visions of Tankas,
Tibetan monks chanting,
temples echoing mantras side by side,
Tibetan jade jewellery glinting in the morning light
wards off the evil eyes, surrounds the crumbling
Mughal window frames,
pillared houses of white and bronze coloured stone
lattice work windows, wooden shutters.
mountain flowers, winding roads
some mish mash of images rise up
and comfort me as hot tears flow incessantly
of broken dreams once forged in love and passion
of lovers gone by, now I will merge into Chunnu's
vision, as life has slipped through my fingers like fast falling sand
and after all, the mountains seem to be calling me once again.