Once we see,
we always see. 
From everywhere -
even through the walls of
our eyes and houses,
fences and boundaries,
cubes and jails.
It is there for us always.
All we have to do is lift our head
and look.

When we look,
It tells us which direction to walk.
It tells us the direction in
which our dreams are. 
Look up and it will challenge us,
to pursue only the path to it
and nothing else.

The path to the mountain
is stuff of legends.
No one knows how to reach it.
But they all can see.
Above the old buildings,
and even older trees,
It stretches towards the sky.

Some say starting the journey
is the hardest.
Others say starting is
Many have started,
They left a trail of bread crumbs,
so they can come back to
the safety of their nests,
when the journey gets harder.
Few have ventured on.

I hear stories about them,
those who ventured,
around campfires and
long shadows.
Some say the path ate them.
Others say they became the
Often we hear their songs
when the wind from the mountain
blows our way.
When the wind finds its way
inside our hearts
through the hollows and crevices,
the songs make an urge,
to quest for the mountain.

If we choose to sing along,
we see the mountain.
and when we see it,
It can never be unseen.
It is not said in vain that
those who see the Gaiman mountain,
are both fortunate and cursed. 

Fortunate, because they
finally see what very few can.
and they become stuff
of legends themselves
when they walk towards the mountain.

Cursed also are they,
for they never un-see the mountain. 
They never un-hear the song.
They never un-feel the wind.
Every time the wind
blows a song into their heart,
it flies away with a piece
of their soul to the mountain.

The Gaiman mountain,
that is where the pieces of soul lie,
waiting for the heart it belongs,
to start their quest,
so that they can unite.

People who can walk, walk.
People who can fly, fly.
People who can swim, swim.
There is no one path,
to the mountain where
hearts and souls unite.