giant pristine mountains are touching the heavens,
and their peaks are whittling the clouds,
sunrays, at their best, are reaching wilted and warmless,
such is the fetish range of Pir-panjal mountains,
it's a place called paradise,
but, de facto, here only a toughest can survive;
Treacherous weather remains stubborn,
what it wants in next hr remains unknown,
here storms, anytime, are uninvited guests,
they're indefatigably frequent and impertinent,
and keep on testing the equanimity of a determined soul,
they always seem inclined to exhaust us,
like reminding us of our limitations as humans,
those, which we've, either forgotten or pretend to,
but here, as if they say, we're at almighty's place,
as here only God actually rules autocratically;
The early sunset even hours before,
looks deceiving its dependents, as it's required the most,
as if, purely unnecessarily, it's making so haste to go,
which exacerbates the climate and exacerbates the desperation,
an ipso-facto of this land's cold destiny,
where a hope for the better becomes hoping against hope;
still,
inspite of,
all the hell we can think of them,
these mountains're not lying derelicted,
as life blooms here in mesmerising beauty;
Avalanches come down and when melt,
a physical phenomenon becomes a benediction of almighty for millions,
rarest of plants, shrubs and animals are found here,
some quenches the hunger of feral mammals,
while some cure the deadliest diseases being so medicinal;
Exquisitely cruel nights have their own beauty,
bleary looking mountains feel like sleepy,
and so is the mysteriously silent sky,
and deep down, the valleys, disappear into the gloom,
winds get colder with each gale,
and envelop the mountains delicately,
and mountains, in response, cover themselves with snow,
the secret of 'Insulation of snow' as if they were first to know.
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