At the edge of lake Titikaka
I saw my face reflected
Under the canopy of reeds
Serving some dual purpose
One plea for the inhabitants
And another for aesthetic scries
Fair waters refracting a hue
In keeping with the azure skies.

Perplexing motions in froze
Amid alien corn
Appearing such no more.

Known by native Aymara
Mama Kota, the mother lake
For worship of the sun
By ancient Incas in glade
Where Manco Capac
Rose from the waters
To give ancestral law
In temples dedicated to
Divinity of sun in raw.

For floating isles of Uros
Growing greens of totora reed
Shades of Taquila en waters
Reviving tales of ancient creed.

________________

URUBAMBA.

Chipped mountains
With the condor eyes
Flaked by some sinister
Grey hounds of the rock.

This is a place
For reflections
Stranding together
Some multiple fractions.

Wider vistas
Opening to alluvial lands
Geared in high plateau
Imposing on winding river
Designs of their own hands.

Beyond the granite walls
There is a flutter of green
Decked by plaited yellow
Where little humming bird flings
Sipping nectar from each mellow.

Alone amid sacred valleys
Gushing waters in the flow
Of meandering Urubamba
Guarded by the temples
Fortresses of Pisac
And Machu-Picchu’s glow.

Drenched in past memories
The ushered in Urubamba
Of the sacred cannons flows
Along edges of forests of rain
Protected by the spirits of Amazon.

_______________

EPPING FOREST.

Spirit of green engendered in liberty
Sweeping across the glanded glades
Tangled tree spirits in tarnished brief
Dancing shades of sunlit lauded leaves.

Some reveries of buttercups in a sea of grass
Sported squirrels where frolicking en-mass
A listed gesture abbotted in a shallow ditch
Songs of flyers in myrtled melodious pitch.

Conversers of the mind in greenish code
Stimulations of heart in a gentler mode
Spirits of nubile shadows laying aside
Some sultry caresses for the winded bride.

____________________

SEASON OF DOUBT.

A season born in decant doubts
Amid tales woven around crowded lies
Pivoted fingers of the polluted seas
Along hills of raven where desert ends
Combining pinioned deeds of silver keel
Scythe moulded forms in tampered steel.

Blow, blow the eastern wind
Across the valleys with your sharp breath
Transfer the seeds from the colder climbs
To warm plains kneaded by fingered earth.

Conspiring to trim the wings
Of the sidereal desired dreaming soul
Half in earnest half in remembrance
Invitations to some strange tales in bold.