As The Two Mountains Spoke

What did one mountain say to another?

Was it just, “Let’s meet in the valley brother!.”?

An early morning

When the foam makes galaxies in my coffee,

When the stars assemble to form a toffee;

When the sun tries to keep me warm,

And I see nothing but this charm,

The two mountains speak.

I hear how fond of us, humans,

Who carved homes in their heart;

And how they succumbed to budge apart,

Sundering down the south,

Paving a river to kill the drouth,

The two mountains speak.

That was how we civilised, I reckon,

Around fissures of hills,

That wrapped us in their frills;

Amidst the babbling brooks,

In the silence of their nooks,

As the two mountains spoke.

"Why don’t the mountains ever talk to us?" I wonder,

"May be it was our blunder."

We never see them, or their valleys,

Or the rocks, or their alleys.

All we see is the peaks of mountains that never meet,

And the screens of the gadgets that never speak.