This is a wild tune ,folks, from snow hills of woman grass heads,as flute sings ruin on precipices over watching endless tea. Wild tune is now a poem of personal ruin.If it is wild tune, it is a poem ,says Frost, rather frostily of waves of snowed hills. Frosty breath goes of mountains falling.Tea breath that was cloud is here water.
Water is earth and mud about stone god. Stone god is helpless about violent wife.Violent wife is piece of mother deranged because of progress dams in her bosom.Her tune goes wild and somewhat eerie in the nights about dead people waiting for their fires to be lit after copters come.Copters bring the wood for the wild tune.Stone god dad is waiting for his death ash.
(A busy pilgrimage until the flashfloods, Kedarnath today has turned into a virtual ghost town …..There’s an eerie silence at Phata village, broken each time a chopper lands or takes off. Three pundits are performing the last rites near the river Mandakini : Times of India report)