The Man who lived on the Hill

I knew a Man, who lived on a Hill
He lived there alone, but he was not lonely.
He had his birds and he had his trees,
He had butterflies and he had his flowers.

He lived on his hill,
Where the Grass was so green,
It hurt your Eyes.
Where the Water was so clear,
It cut your throat.

One day he invited me to his home,
Up on that hill, where he lived alone.
I ate the food of grain that sprouted from the ground.
I drank the wine of grapes that grew in the field.

I swam in the river or was it a stream?
I lazed in the crisp air, awake but in a dream.
I slept on the harsh ground on the top of the hill.
And talked into the night, watching the faraway suns.

When I woke up in the morning, I saw a miracle,
The sky had come down to meet with the ground,
The clouds floated low, as if to kiss the earth,
Far away a river shivered in the morning sun.

The wind blew softly, bringing unearthly fragrances,
Somewhere a distant bell rang, maybe it was a temple,
In that eternal moment, when the earth, the universe and I aligned,
Without knowing it, I had tears in my eyes.

Through the tears, I looked at the Man, he was My friend,
I hugged him and thanked him for asking me to come.
He looked at me and smiled and said "This is your home".

I came back to my city of stone towers and steel carriages,
To continue my life lived on the stroke of the pendulum,
To wait at the Red light, To drink damp coffee from the machine,
To worry about possessions, and what to buy next.

But sometimes as I wait for the light to turn green,
Sometimes while the paper cup is getting filled by the machine,
I remember how my heart beat inside my chest,
As it tried to match the rhythm of the universe.

Up on that hill, how I saw with open eyes,
The dream that I dreamt in broad daylight.

I think of the glittering eyes of the man,
The man who lived on the hill.

Where the Grass was so green,
It hurt your Eyes.
Where the Water was so clear,
It cut your throat.