pristine white snow-capped peaks,
painted across the horizon,
above green clad foothills and valleys,
glacial waters cold and sullen,

meandering rivers now stand still,
where Sherpas carry their daily loads,
a fresh chill spreads along the wake
of footsteps over virgin snows,

a crimson range stencilled in the sky,
bleeding in the evening light,
half shadowed flotilla of clouds,
descends into a misty night,

trudging against the hostile glare,
a ghostly moon to guide along,
with icy breaths they suck the air,
as she pulls them ever closer to her womb,

the people of the frozen tombs,
the final dream, the dizzy heights,
the chilling promise the goddess made,
the summit for their lives.

Fathun of the Maldives enjoyed reading this poem and they had this to say:

"It is a beautiful and inspiring poem ... it really takes you to the heights of the Himalayans even though you are sitting in front of your pc and reading it ... Farah keep on writing we'll keep reading. Congratulations!"

Akki from New York says this:

"Congratulations! Farah, excellent work, vivid yet subtle. Looking forward to the next one!"

Welsh Valleys

soft southern light creeps
across the sleeping valleys,
misty shadows slow to surrender
their veil of darkness
to the rising sun, struggling
to see the valleys below,
slowly stirring to life,

early sheep grazing
on the Beacons
the fresh dew settled on the grass
the evening before,
now cool as they chew heedless,
waiting for unknown fates,

rust coloured leafy walls
sing a gentle song in the wind,
golden dust glistens
on the marshy ground,
a baby sun smiles finally,
a new day leaps from the shadows.