Mountain Shrine

They took divergent paths.
He climbed to the top of a mountain,
sun-kissed skin, bronzed and dark,
and he perched on a rock
with his chin on his fist,
revelled in solitude and crisp air and pine trees,
a respite from the bitter aftertaste
of love lost.

She was never as nimble-footed as he
and boarded bus after bus
and swerved along curvy roads
sandwiched between the flesh and bones
of the world's unwanted,
as her heart flitted and fluttered
caught off guard in the thin mountain air.

There was never a pretense
that destiny had not chosen for her
a solitary path, littered with brambles
and punctuated with cruel appearances of lovers embraced
amidst the jagged cliffs and breathtaking skies.

Her strength was her weakness.
Achilles himself shot her heel,
and the tears formed a silent stream
that gave life to the trees
and breath to the birds
and love to the people in the valleys below.