This morning my pencil pulled me uphill,
higher and higher,
until a stupa appeared on my page—
white dome, golden eyes,
watching me as if I was their only visitor.
Around it, prayer wheels spun quietly,
as though the paper itself was whispering mantras.
My pencil curved again,
and suddenly mountains rose—
Everest standing proud,
yet somehow gentle,
like it was leaning down to hug the whole world.
A secret came with the line:
Kathmandu once had a living goddess, a Kumari,
a little girl chosen to be worshipped
until she grew older.
I paused, in awe—
imagine a city that finds divinity in a child.
I signed the page slowly,
as if the Himalayas themselves
were watching me hold my pencil.
✨ If your pencil could climb mountains, what wonder would it sketch at the peak?
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