Primitive Delight

Among the bushes,
Lies the serpent
On its back we crawl
Like a snake we slid
The earth descends upon the sky
The pinnacle among the clouds
The bitter breeze keeps calling,
Comforts of the mundane life,
When the soul has been lost in the distance.

Nature’s wealth abound in the hills;
The narrow roads, twisting and turns
The mount’s unremembered splendours
Beside deep gorges scaling down,
It takes the heart into the depth.