Image by Ales Krivec from Pixabay 

The mountain did call us all;
The people who didn’t care if they fall.
The mountain did call us trekkers
Who succeeded the challenge till it did end all.

Amidst hills green and clouds blue;
Amidst black rocks and icy dunes;
I trekked through terrain dark;
Thinking I alone should eat the fruit on the bark.

Until the rock ‘neath me slipped and I fell;
A hand reached out from the heavens to take care.
She had the face of an angel in a mortal shell;
She held onto me when I fell.

She did not let go of my hand;
We walked together through the uneven land.
The summit faded in comparison to her grace;
As we sat on the rocky arid place;

The pass was covered by white and fog;
But cleared for the arrival of an angel that sat on the rocks;
On the rocks of that pass where I attained the summit and something else;
Where I attained Nirvana for the angel that held her place.

The descent was tough and the hand in mine slipped;
I looked around to see the angel gone from the place;
I was left alone to follow her grace.
And every year, I go on treks amid mountains blue;

To look for my love that did bloom.
It’s a wonderful thing, the roads we take;
For if I had never fell;
I would never have met her there.

There amidst the mountains black and blue;
Where people find their dreams;
And have the guts to summit them too.

.     .     .