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Deeya takes us to the serenity of monastery and weaves a beautiful story in this verse.
At those shimmering heights
fantasy gropes about in silver hairs
weaving cobwebs of senility
At those great heights
where monasteries are
the spell and fumes of ecstasy
run havoc-
the thin air among serrated clouds 
speak of sublimity
Through the skimmed rays of light
and the frail sun
the sonorous gong of the dung-chen
and gya-ling
the agony keeps pace
the wrath of a beast
sleepy among mountain lairs
fast asleep among the snow
and its height of innocence
to awake to the rituals of a mountain god
bellowing furious
Its when the avalanches happen…
©Deeya Bhattacharya
Pix from Net.
