The Mountain

Published: Sunday, 22 January 2012 Written by Siobhan Pascal

If my mountian could see, what would it behold?

Would it look downwards fondly on the creatures that call it home,

Or would it weep at the sight of bloody lives sold?

 

If my mountain could speak what would it say?

Would it rejoice filling the air with praise for life it saw for all these days

Or would it curse those who destroy it with their technological ways?

 

If my mountain could listen, what would it hear?

Would it detect the melodic tunes of the birds up above or the bleats of the goats down below

Or, would the moans of the sick and starving fall upon its rocky ears, or the screams of the oppressed fill the mountainous air?

 

If my mountain could move, where would it go?

Would it visit its cousins because stone doesn't grow

Or would it look disdainfully at our miseries and joys and allow itself to be washed away by as gentle streams flow?

 

But I say for certain there is no need to fret,

For you need not worry about my mountainous abode

Because my mountain has been here and been there and been practically everywhere

Without ever leaving its monstrous home

For my mountain has eyes in the birds high above, and mouths in the nature on its beautiful rocks

Because it holds ears in the ever silent stones, which are burdened with stories untold

 

My mountain has legs in you and in me and with us it travels the world, and where we cannot go it still does know because the wind will go and bear my mountains dust away from home.

 

So you see my mountain

however great and wise and strong

my mountain will always need us

to carry it along

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