All around, softly undulating sands lie,
Ochre shaded, uniform to the eye.
Far ahead, the mountain range,
Jagged crags of black,
Stand out against a blue glazed sky.
Lava-black, thrust upwards, torn
From inside the earth when it was born.
Rugged, ragged ridges,
Spiked carbon coals,
Sparkling with diamond thorns.
Silver streams gush forth, to wind between
The rocks below; ribbons of aquamarine
That silently shimmer,
To flow snake like
Into deep pools of emerald green.
In former times, perhaps a secret, sacred place,
Favoured by sufi poets, seeking grace
Through suffering,
As they climbed with bloodied, naked feet
Upwards to a perfect love,
To be, at last, at one with God.
Today they've built a tourist hotel.
Pool, mini- golf, roller -skating rink.
Five star luxury and service with a smile.
But the mountains loom dark in the background
As you sip your evening drink.
Margery Rehman
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mountains-of-hatta/
