The smiley tea-man nods his head as
Halfway-hikers seek respite,
Ranging routes all converging on a shack which disappears
Once or twice a day.
Clouds drifting like the travellers who dot the winding road.
Where to next?
The seat over there. An overgrown stump, camouflaged
By the vitality of life that passes it by.
Stagnancy  does not flourish here, nor does it in any corner of the world.
It stays in that corner forever.

My first pale journey up the mountain –
Infant. Frail. Afraid.
An intensity of fear so strong it seemed to blank itself out.
What is fear but indulging in anxieties?
That’s not permitted anymore.
I proceeded.
Nearing the edge as each corner turned,
Opposing sides vying for attention,
As boastful views expose themselves with each teetering swerve.
Each knot in the roots now familiar,
Instead of tripping up, I traverse the forest in the dark.

Fresh air filters through conditioned machines,
As the eerie echoes and tinkling temples transform
To multilingual departure announcments.
Every place inspires, if you let it.
Every city moves , if you move with it.
Colourful arrays of everyday outfits
Compliment the hues of skies always there,
Yet all too often hidden in smog.

A soundtrack of ignition and impatient exchanges
Piercing horns and firey lights stimulate and simmer deep,
They say to climb mountains -here we summit volcanoes.
The untrustworthy hills.
The ones who can’t take the heat.
Still we climb. Still we seek.
To see the sunrise from another peak.
The journey down proves a more arduous ordeal,
Yet comfort means you know,
You can always see the sunrise still,
Even from way down low.

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