At Wentworth Lake

Here, in these lower hills,

Glacial lakes are none,

But man has tried his hand and dammed

A jewelled blue in turn.

 

Hemmed by emerald woods of pine

Coots and crakes abound

But when I close my eyes, I hear

Hums of a distant sound

 

Of lapping waves of a lake afar

In the mountains home I left,

These hillside tears, at least unite

My soul that feels so cleft

 

I wake anew and give a smile

As sunshine wraps the hills

Where once I’d scorn this trivial range

Today, my heart - with joy it fills

 

That there’s at least a mountain range

So close this much to town,

Hills so full of life although

There’s no snow on their crown

 

The lake whispers, this much’s enough

There’s pines on hills and ridge,

And lakes and rhododendrons’ spring

That make a memory bridge

 

To the distant lands - abode of snow

For which the heart will mourn -

Until then, these hills have love,

And shade for the pilgrim lone…

 

3^rd November 2023

 

It was at Wentworth Lake at the Blue Mountains that I had a strange realisation. The lake, less popular than its namesake waterfall, is an artificial one, created by damming a stream. Yet it is large, beautiful and reflects that largesse of the skies in blue. It took me back to another magical place I had visited about a year back – Mirik, in the hills of Darjeeling, also renowned for its lake, not glacial but formed by damming a stream. For a minute I missed the majestic Himalaya. But the next moment, I was back to the present, so similar to the mountains of my homeland – wrapped in pines and rhododendrons, and so close to the city of Sydney that you can glance outside a window and look at the evocative mountains painted in a light blue hue in the horizon. There was a time when I would look down upon these Blue Mountains (which is technically a plateau), yet that day, I felt grateful that there is this ridge of magic and melancholy in less than an hour’s drive that happily brings back fond memories of the Mountains of my love.

I looked at the Blue Mountains differently – with reverence, gratitude and a newfound love. Doesn’t matter they are not toweringly high  (more than 300 million years old, they are far older than the taller, young fold mountains due to which they have been severely eroded), they still have a magical soul that makes you wonder yearningly and smile, whether you are far away gazing from a skyscraper in the city’s heart or standing on one of its ridges, staring at a glassy blue lake shimmering under a summer sun.

Images : Author's archives

Above: Wentworth Lake, Blue Mountains

Below: Mirik Lake, Darjeeling