burying couldrons of grief-tinged devotion
beneath this giant of a peakless mountain
Do you know of days burning with reason nor rhyme
or of those that truly know the poetry of time
Did you you hear those lies that mothers sing of folklores, sweet loves and springtime
One such tale they wove of him, the god who was born
when that unlikely couple met at a promiscuous dawn
Tender earth made love to the mystical sky
And they said he was born tiny, a tad too shy
Along came grief, vanity or jealous might
he grew by the day and through the night
His heart opened a longing hole heavenwards
And his arms spilled over the earth downwards
Perhaps he yearned to make a home for three,
In misty cloud-cysts, but them two, never free
His unborn brothers lie buried round his girth
Who saw his birth, who knew this worth
He Fujisan, sings their songs from autumn's lengthy tomes
He Fujisan weaves clouds on his untracked mighty stones
And down below we weave our punctured lives
into blurred portraits, into false tales of truthful strifes
Fujisan, do you live in those stories of daily deaths
Of your mother's infinite thirst, her never ending quest?
p.s:Another piece of unused writing recycled. Was trying to merge the Indian myth of churning of the ocean by gods using the mount meru with myths I heard of Mount Fuji. Forgive me please for inaccuracies
(As posted to a Facebook poetry group Singpowrimo)
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