I ask how snow-wheat grows
On trees and then sun comes
And there is water a-dripping.
In the upper valley tall pines
Stand as if dead always there,
To be green soon after noon.
In the upper valley the trees
Eat snow-wheat for a sheen
When all is eaten turn green.
Quietly poplars emerge in Leh,
High in the snow of bared hills,
The hills stripped of their green
By a forgetful blanket of winter.
From the Buddha peace above,
We look down on their clusters
In a muddy rockscape nestling
Ochre monasteries in its ridges.
Everyone here lives in poplars
They give them the life’s wind
And are no eerie wind sounds ,
Their deadwood fine geometry.
Spider has to spit its fine thread
To spin gossamer silk of dreams.
After when there are rain pearls
By sun quick to weeping leaves,
Spit turns web to trap a world
And world is caught helplessly.