Koraput Hills 4

Barren hills speak not

Have no birds or brush,

They do have a voice,

When in dusk they blush.

Suns’ rays stains them red

And rocks burn red too

Trust me rocks display,

Love for me and you.

Words that are heard not

But gently slide down.

With the water drops,

That turn muddy brown.

I swear it is tears

Know not, pain or joy,

That slithers downhill,

Like that of a maid coy.