The Mountain's Silence Poem by Asim Baadshah

High above the valley low,
Where winds are born and rivers flow,
Their spires pierce the morning light,
Clothed in snow and sunrise white.

No sound but breath, no rush, no race,
Each stone a poem in frozen grace,
The eagle rides the winds ahead,
Where only dreams and clouds have tread.

The peaks remain, though ages pass,
Like silent gods of stone and grass,
Their whispers ride the silent air,
With truths too old, too vast to share.

Climb if you wish to meet the sky,
Where thunder sleeps and echoes die,
For up there time forgets to climb,
And stillness reigns like ancient rhyme.

~ Asim Baadshah