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
Ocher monasteries in its ridges.

Everyone here lives in poplars
Alive in a sky or dead in wood.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
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