What this picture say?

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Prayer flags at George Everest point, Mussoorie.

This picture will not tell,
how pretty pictures of this place
on those fancy travel websites, lured me.
And I set on to explore it, with much glee.
This picture will not tell,
the stories of those mighty ranges,
from whose foothill I started.
Nor about those beautiful winding road,
covering the Himalayas
like a serpent holding its prey,
that faithfully showed us the way.
This picture will not tell,
how many times I wished
there was someone beside me
in the backseat of the cab,
to whom I would’ve pointed out
the deepest shades of blue in the sky,
or the breathtaking view of the
Doon valley below, as we passed by.
and how I longed for someone
to fall onto, laughing and shrieking,
in each sharp turn.
This picture will not tell,
how the driver almost took a wrong turn
on the way, and we had to stop
in a picturesque but deserted hill top.
And I got out of the cab, and clicked pictures
of the surreal surrounding I was in,
to show it to my friends later, where I’d been.
And about all the climbing I did,
cautiously keeping my foot,
overcoming fear with every step that I took.
And how many times I stopped,
to catch my breath, bent
down with hands on my waist,
exhausted.
But I hope it tells you,
how ecstatic I was, when I finally reached
to be alive, to be standing there
with the wind on my face.
How significant and insignificant
I felt all at once, just to behold
the mountains, about which stories
must have been told and retold.
How my heart fluttered,
like these prayer flags
dancing in the breeze,
and I wondered, where they will fly to,
which path they will choose,
if they ever happen to break loose?

Stubbornly optimistic, a listener of the universe and follower of my dreams. Coffee, smell of new books, long walks, old melodies, good sense of humour, and poetry light me up. I want to be happy when I grow up.

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