Wet place

At night a white wet place would come
Out of nowhere, with high boots in mud
An earth falling off to white snow in tea
A tepid tea to warm military stomachs.
Further down would be a turquoise lake
Lapping up against the enemy country
On other side, with their military boots
Stomping their ice, rising in icy silence
Their men looking all of them the same.

The hills would rise in their brown mud
Stripped of ice drained out last summer.
Their water rivers are bloody capillaries
That trailed off to lake’s turqoise history .
But for now we are still in that wet place
With military boots sinking in white ice.
A temple is swathed in ice that must be
Having an oil lamp to light dark innards .
Everything has to be wet , even a flame.

(Chang La is a high mountain pass (17000 ft) in the Himalayas on way to the beautiful Pangong lake)


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
This entry was posted in Nature poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s