A stream in the highest valley,
a glacier of the Himalayas,
frozen yet still running
thanks to a conscientious spring.
Prints in the snow betray
the path of a snow leopard
prowling along the valley
towards an intended victim.
A markhor buck drinks at the stream,
a lord of mountain goats,
coiled corkscrew snake horns
and a man fit for a horse.
A pale ghost, the spotted shade,
slinks along the rocks,
and surprises the thirsty goat,
chasing it headlong up a ridge
till claws and teeth seize it
just as it leaps from a ledge.
Showing posts with label himalayas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label himalayas. Show all posts
Friday, 31 March 2017
Wednesday, 25 January 2017
Lammergeyer
Over mountains, glaciers and rivers,
a lammergeyer soars,
surveying the white mountains
with red-rimmed eyes.
It flies as a great winged spectre
to the cold wastes of the west.
The carcass of a blue sheep,
revealed by the retreat of the snow,
surrounded by crows
and griffon vultures.
Squabbling,
the griffons of the Himalayas
flay the sheep into a red blotch
on the mountainside.
Ripping away at sinew and muscle
until they reach the bones.
The spectre descends,
and the griffins scatter
as it lands in the grass.
It ruffles grey and white feathers,
lifts bones in its talons,
carries them above the slopes
and drops them onto the cold rocks.
The bones broken, the lammergeyer
feasts on luxurious marrow.
a lammergeyer soars,
surveying the white mountains
with red-rimmed eyes.
It flies as a great winged spectre
to the cold wastes of the west.
The carcass of a blue sheep,
revealed by the retreat of the snow,
surrounded by crows
and griffon vultures.
Squabbling,
the griffons of the Himalayas
flay the sheep into a red blotch
on the mountainside.
Ripping away at sinew and muscle
until they reach the bones.
The spectre descends,
and the griffins scatter
as it lands in the grass.
It ruffles grey and white feathers,
lifts bones in its talons,
carries them above the slopes
and drops them onto the cold rocks.
The bones broken, the lammergeyer
feasts on luxurious marrow.
Friday, 11 September 2015
Rudraprayag
after Jim Corbett, The Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag
There is a road in the mountains
between Badrinath and Kerdanath.
Shrines that sheltered pilgrims
for thousands of years.
The road now shelters no one.
Flu-ravaged corpses lined the banks
of two rivers nourished by glaciers.
Coals sat in their mouths
to absorb the stench of death.
The corpses' flesh filled
the stomach of leopard.
The road fell under its shadow.
For eight years it prowled
through the mountains
and found prey in every village.
It leapt through windows,
snatching infants from their cribs
with barely a noise,
just silence remaining.
One of those villages
became its favourite haunt.
A small place on the road,
huddled in between the river
and a forested mountain.
The houses of Rudraprayag are
still. Goats bleat uneasily, while
cows stare dumfounded into the gloom.
A lantern on the headman's porch
cools from the heat of its flame.
A shadow crosses the threshold.
It rips and slashes the locked door,
breaking it down with force of hunger.
Gnarled teeth plunge into the soft throat
so only a whisper escapes.
It tears the man from his bed
into the cover of the night.
(Hi guys, the Tiger Poet here. Hope you enjoyed this poem, there are plenty more on their way. It's been very quiet these last few months, but hope you all had a good summer. See you soon.)
There is a road in the mountains
between Badrinath and Kerdanath.
Shrines that sheltered pilgrims
for thousands of years.
The road now shelters no one.
Flu-ravaged corpses lined the banks
of two rivers nourished by glaciers.
Coals sat in their mouths
to absorb the stench of death.
The corpses' flesh filled
the stomach of leopard.
The road fell under its shadow.
For eight years it prowled
through the mountains
and found prey in every village.
It leapt through windows,
snatching infants from their cribs
with barely a noise,
just silence remaining.
One of those villages
became its favourite haunt.
A small place on the road,
huddled in between the river
and a forested mountain.
The houses of Rudraprayag are
still. Goats bleat uneasily, while
cows stare dumfounded into the gloom.
A lantern on the headman's porch
cools from the heat of its flame.
A shadow crosses the threshold.
It rips and slashes the locked door,
breaking it down with force of hunger.
Gnarled teeth plunge into the soft throat
so only a whisper escapes.
It tears the man from his bed
into the cover of the night.
(Hi guys, the Tiger Poet here. Hope you enjoyed this poem, there are plenty more on their way. It's been very quiet these last few months, but hope you all had a good summer. See you soon.)
Wednesday, 15 April 2015
NaPoWriMo #15 | Eyes of the Forest
So I've reached the halfway point in my NaPoWriMo odyssey. To celebrate, I've written another India poem, this time about gray langur monkeys. These monkeys are found right across Indian, from the forests of Madhya Pradesh to the foothills of the Himalayas. Hope you enjoy.
Eyes of the Forest
A gray langur relaxes
on the highest branch
of a slender sal tree.
A grey mane of fur
around her black face,
with unblinking eyes.
A baby huddles against
its mother as she watches
the silent forest floor.
A younger langur lounges
on a spindly branch.
He barks, stirring the others.
The troop takes up the call
as a spotted shadow slinks
through the undergrowth below.
The leopard retreats into
the greenery, and the mother
and her baby can relax again.
Eyes of the Forest
A gray langur relaxes
on the highest branch
of a slender sal tree.
A grey mane of fur
around her black face,
with unblinking eyes.
A baby huddles against
its mother as she watches
the silent forest floor.
A younger langur lounges
on a spindly branch.
He barks, stirring the others.
The troop takes up the call
as a spotted shadow slinks
through the undergrowth below.
The leopard retreats into
the greenery, and the mother
and her baby can relax again.
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