By Srinjay Chakravarti

The journey lasts for days and days.
We trek up valley, hill and slope
We carry with ourselves the hope
To traverse strange, untrodden ways.

We enter now a world of clouds.
Along the way we hear the call
Of mountain wind and waterfall.
The pallid mist is spreading shrouds.

At last we reach the final peak.
The summit beckons us to come
The air is cold, our feet are numb.
We climb to reach the grail we seek.

The path is steep and narrow there.
It snakes its way -- these stairs of stone
Now mark the route we make our own.
The sunshine gilds the lucid air.

The peak is stark with gelid snow.
We look where sky and earth have merged,
>From high above. Our souls are purged.
Forgotten lies the world below.