Kirghizistan
There is a country where sometimes the sky meets the earth…
42.2155200 - 5.7565900
THERE was no more rain
Storms shredded the black clouds hither and down
From the eastern iceheads of Himalaya,
Blew them onto mountains and cedar forests,
Onto blooming meadows, southerly slopes,
This bedlam of beasts and trees –
Euphorbia acacia stands of bamboo –
Tossed them, torrents and ice-needles,
Over sheer rockwalls, seething hills and spates,
Over rivers, —
They raced thundering down deep valleys,
Kosi, Alaknanda, Yamuna,
Surged onto the radiant plains of India! —
Storms shredded the black clouds away,
Howled.
And ravines meadows rockwalls awoke to the drumming of waters,
Began howling like seas.
And ships rode on the seas.
What sort of ships were they that rode the sea,
Boats bobbing, darting under sail, capsizing, coming aright?
In the pattering of the waters,
Souls, pale misty Souls
Came gliding by nooses of vine, stretched themselves past grasping thorns,
Shimmers of silence in the turbulent tumultuous hubbub.
They clumped in white masses,
Waited motionless under the downpour.
Wind whirled them high,
breath from the mouth of Shiva,
Three-eyed God on crystal Kailash,
Whirled them high, spun them like a wheel,
Spilled them, mist onto water.
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