Drink a palm-full of the crystal clear water from the rugged mountain’s half smelted snow that hideously runs in self-made tunnels. Inhale an early morning breeze rising from the heights’ peaks; the seekers of a pure blue skies via clouds.
Then stealthily swallow the smell of crawling cold under the skin; and remember to add the observation of the white rabbit hanging from the beak of a huge wide- winged white owl hardly able to keep balance in flight to an invisible nest.
After completing these, pull your half frozen/numb hands out of the useless gloves and rob one over the other; warm them with the rising and dancing flame of a burning wet bush that sings the rebellious song to resist dying but it falls on the deaf ear of some thick smoky black wood, which is already the skeleton of the Aphrodisiac’s flame.
While working on the list above look into distance East where the sun rises changing in color; from silver to gold. Do not forget to inhale the freshness of freedom and true nature. Keep thinking of the months ahead, the perfume and the essence of the pussy-willows, buds, beautiful petals of the flowers, forming of the cherries and the taste of sun-ripened apricots or pears racing to kiss the mother earth after saying good bye to the branch.
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Comments about this poem (Recipe by Nassy Fesharaki )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(01 January 1950)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963)
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