The ripples of  air current

transcend the miles between us,

unrelenting, unforgiving, unecognized.

You shrug your shoulders and say:

“It’s nothing, it’s just a bad day!”

Go tell that to the mountains!

Thoughts  metamorphose

into vestiges of  light beams,

searing,  penetrating, reaching out.  

Your mind a tabula rasa.

You think: ” This is not real.”

Go tell that to the mountains, 

and leave  your soul amidst

the swirling abyss of  indifference; 

For it is evident,  you feel the pulse.

Don’t say: ”I don’t”

Go tell that to the mountains.