Ladakh - Day 4 - After Khardongla, Towards Nubra

The journey after Khardongla was one of the most memorable things in my life. The landscape changed as if by magic.

Where went the snow?
Whence came the sand?
Whose hand carved temples out of stone?
What are green fields doing in the heart of a brown desert?

Blow gently wind
The creases on that mountain
Are really the mane of a lion
Nay, the tresses of a woman
Blow gently wind
Run your fingers delicately through her curls
May not thy carefree vagary upset her locks

Those needles in air
And castles of sand
Erase not their carvings
Nor blow away their delicate tip
With thy careless hand

Someone painted the sandy slopes
With their finger nails
And sprinkled powdered snow
To fill the grooves

It was a world of brown and beige and grey
A child walking past got bored
He thought of that colourful cake of last week
He baked a mountain and dressed it
In moss green, onion pink and mango on top

Or did a woman drop a piece of jewelry?
Of jade, amethyst and gold?

Blow not O wind
Touch not this pretty picture
Sigh not
Breathe not. Just be still