Dear Spiti

Thou! Like the Great Grandfather,

Strange and Strong.

Proud, in way Thou stand,

By a river, narrow but long.

Stubborn in Thy dominance,

Thou crouch on, to guard.

Rocks, trees, in reverence,

Turn bare and hard.

Thy strict facial expression,

Hones the attitudes of lives.

Thy high altitudes,

Infuse coldness in mind.

Thence mind relentlessly longs

Solitude in Thine old arms.

In a trance, I leave the thoughts

Of anything I can jot.

Before Thy cold desert,

Dear Spiti,

My being is only a dot,

My being is only a dot.