Mrs. Shipuwah

Mrs. Shipuwah climbs down the hills everyday,

age of sixty, begonia scars on her face.

She dance down with her mountain goats,

sits by her ideal place

and smoked a herbal roll.

I crossed the wavy lane and sit by her side,

asked her,"How you climb up and down every morning and night?"

She sang with her raspy voice,

"Hills are my path, goats are my guide

Herbs are my pleasure, the hilly air purifies.

Up I go in my caves under this twinkling night."

I gazed at her,she cracked so hard,

Ohh!! Mrs. Shipuwah recited just like Mozart.

She picked up her sticks and her goats,

Turned around and said,

"Write this and let's see where it goes."

Author's Note

My trip to Himachal