A drop of gold
in a stormy sea
of grey and purple and blue.
Splashes of blood
on the sacred, overarching sky,
behind the three kondas.
A sudden spin of the sky,
as I witness the earth rotating,
from my still seat on the ground.
What will the painter
paint today?
The infinite sky
her easel, the sun
her paint.
My senses are awakened,
I am a part of all that surrounds me,
We celebrate the beauty,
of the golden ball,
in her prime.
Dumbstruck,
at peace,
and content.
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