FRESH SNOW
Fresh snow
On the high peaks
Of the Himalaya.
So dazzlingly white
That it hurts your eyes.
The peaks
The dwellings of Gods
The greatest altars
You will ever worship at.
The unperturbed shinning symphony
Of whiteness
A spectacle
Worthy of the gods.
Can a human being
Bear so much beauty
And then return to a normal life?
Your eyes
Are dancing with joy
Your soul
Is crying with ecstasy.
The fresh snow
Dancing the ecstasy
Of your soul
On the high peaks
Of the Himalaya.
— Henryk Skolimowski