Holiday at Puncak

Morning slips through misty hills,
A silver veil on quiet roads,
Pine trees whisper to the breeze
Secrets only clouds have known.

The city fades — a distant hum,
Replaced by rustling emerald leaves,
Tea gardens stretch in gentle waves,
A quilt of calm the heart receives.

Warm cups cradled in cold air,
Laughter drifts with rising steam,
Time slows down in Puncak’s arms,
Like living in a softer dream.

Rain arrives without a sound,
Softly tapping tiled retreats,
Bringing peace in every drop,
A rhythm slow, a hush so sweet.

And when the dusk begins to fall,
Golden light on valleys deep,
The hills hold tight their quiet spell,
And lull the weary soul to sleep.