I look down from the mountain peak And see my journey flash before my eyes The rough terrain, the steep climb, The marsh and mire beside the creek The rocky edges, the slippery slopes The long hard obstacle course Speckled with my drops of sweat.
I look down from the mountain peak My binoculars fixed to my eyes; I see Cows drag a plough across a green field, Glittering golden in the sun A stooping figure of a man with a whip I see huts and shacks, clustered, rundown Little children running barefoot Pulling the tail of a exasperated pony Old women in torn clothes Fatigued and drained as the sun's harsh rays Beat down upon their sagging skin.
I look down from the mountain peak And find a disruption in the rural scene An isolated complex of ten-storeyed apartments With glass windows, and high walls Gleaming cars rolling out of the gates No squalor or filth, and no kids playing.
I look up from the mountain peak And see another rise before me Higher and Steeper, Greater in every aspect I see the journey that lay before me The next peak that I had to reach.
But as I stood there, at that very moment I knew that my destiny was not a peak There wasn't really a destiny to seek The view would be similar from any peak. Perhaps it was time to climb down that mountain Along the steep edges, along a tiny creek, Maybe it was time to change the view a bit, Perhaps it was time to deal with the scene.
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