The White Fur and the Highland Haze

A Lament from Ice and Stone

Where Arctic winds in mourning moan,

And stars weep cold in twilight’s tone,

A polar bear named Jayamukh roamed,

Through lands that once were crowned, enthroned.

He stalked the floe, the seal, the tide,

But all he knew began to slide.

The sea grew thin, the ice grew weak,

And hunger hollowed heart and cheek.

Far from his home, beyond the mist,

Where mountains by the sun are kissed,

A Yeti, draped in storm and snow,

Watched highland springs no longer flow.

From glaciers tall to dusty stone,

He wandered now, estranged, alone.

The sacred peaks of frost and prayer,

Now whispered loss into the air.

They met beneath a twilight gray,

Where neither night nor dawn would stay.

No words were used, yet minds aligned,

In grief two worlds had long confined.

Jayamukh’s Thought, a freezing breeze:

"The ice retreats, the silence seethes,

Each floe I chase, the ocean breathes—

But not with life, not with the past,

Just warming waves that rise too fast."

Yeti’s Thought, a thinning cloud:

"The peaks now weep, the wind stands still,

My veins once snow-fed, now run ill.

The cold is tired, the frost undone,

By what they burn to chase the sun."

Seasons turned with broken grace,

Each cycle lost, each sacred place.

Jayamukh beheld a barren shore,

The Yeti stood where snow fell no more.

One night beneath auroral flame,

The Yeti called, not seeking fame—

But truth, in tones the stars could feel,

A thundered cry, both raw and real:

The Yeti's Cry:

"Oh children of the gentler lands,

With fire-bound hearts and restless hands,

You shape the world, yet close your eyes

To melting poles and choking skies."

"The white bear’s sea—reduced, betrayed,

My mountain shrinks, its beauty frayed.

Though form divides, our roots are shared,

And what you touch, we all have bared."

"Do you not hear the ice’s groan?

Or see the Earth stripped to the bone?

The forest's hush, the ocean's rise—

You hold the future, hear its cries."

"Return the green, restore the snow,

Let rivers run and clean winds blow.

Undo the damage, pause the flame,

Or silence shall forget your name."

The aurora wept in light and hue,

A veil of loss, yet hope broke through.

The Yeti turned to peaks unknown,

And Jayamukh stood, but not alone.

For in the ice, the wind, the sky,

Their final message did not die.

It lingers still, a whispered plea—

A cry for Earth, for you, for me.