Matheran

 

Invisible to the naked eye

Over the morning fog

Magnificent throne of Gods  

Tucked underneath the clouds

 

Fresh streams flow down your cheeks

Like a good old Sunday morning cry

Just a tourist trying to reach your peak

Meditating in the Indian sky

 

The trail is tricky and the air heavy

The locals friendly and ever ready

To lend a helping hand

For a foreign man to attain spirituality

 

The wild horses run free

Like a scarf floating in the breeze

The flowers playfully wink

They sway in rhythm to the buzzing  bees

 

Uplift me to the northern gates

Let me sit in your lavish evergreen state

Looking heaven straight in the face

Transcend into Nirvana

 

I'm home Matheran