I see a mountain from my window
Standing like an ancient sage
Desireless, full of love.
So many trees and so many flowers
They plunder the mountain all the time.
Its attention is not disturbed
And when the rain pours like
Many pitchers of clouds bursting
And it fills the mountain with greenery.
The storms may come soaring,
Filling the lake with compassion
And the rivers flow running down
Towards the calling sea.
The sun will create clouds and
Wind carries on its feathery wings
The rain on to the mountain.
This is the eternal play
The mountain sees
Shri Mataji wrote this in Cabella, Italy,
watching the mountain from Her room