Through winding roads that curled and turned,
We circled the mountains, climbed and learned,
And reached our resort in Mussoorie,
Breathing air so fresh and pure.
Mussoorie, the Queen of Hills,
With valleys filled with beauty’s thrills,
Countless trees and creepers grew,
Wild and free, in every view.
Greenery spread in every direction,
Entwined together without selection;
A careless beauty, wild and free,
The tangled charm of every tree.
Beauty born of wild disorder
Was nature’s own artistic wonder;
Let them remain just as they grew—
To line them up was impossible to do.
On distant hills, we could see
Charming wooden homes so free;
There lived simple, hardworking folk,
Strong and peaceful, as solid as rock.
So different from the plains below,
Nature here seemed to overflow;
As though she spoke in a voice profound,
Revealing secrets hidden all around.
The Red Box, Gun Hill, and Kempty Falls,
Camel’s Back Road with mountain walls—
Each had its own enchanting grace,
And beauty dwelt in every place.
A cool drink made of Buransh flowers,
Pink and tangy, sweet with powers;
Refreshing, cooling, full of zest,
It filled each limb with renewed rest.
Then suddenly came the falling rain,
Like an uninvited guest again;
Sprinkling droplets into our home,
Like a friendly visitor who chose to roam.
Tip-tap, tip-tap, the raindrops fell,
On the tin roofs with a rhythmic spell;
Sometimes softly, sometimes fast,
Different notes the raindrops cast.
After a brief and noisy shower,
The weather cleared within an hour;
Clouds came and went across the sky,
And filled the heart with wonder high.
At night the moon shone bright and clear,
Surrounded by stars that glittered near;
The transparent heavens seemed so wide,
Sparkling brightly from side to side.
Never had I seen so near
Nature’s grandeur, so rich and clear;
These rainbow-coloured valleys were
Filled with beauty beyond compare.
— Vidya
vidus 
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