Sky Painting
That ever moving panorama,
with its diaphanous filters,
its ever changing shimmers of light –
blue skies.
Then there is the crush and crash
of an iron clad drape thundering downwards,
or yet still the burning spiral
of a remorseless gaze, a branding iron that seeks
to etch its power upon all caught under its sway –
other skies.
It’s climate, nothing more than a global swirling
of one atmosphere jousting with another
and what we see, what we encounter is nothing more
than the energies of oceans of air.
Or is it the dance of Shiva?
Some of his steps bring death and destruction,
while some give life -
breathe joy into lungs.
Where then is a sky beyond her sky,
one which is ever still in the eye of all storms?
Where the artists brush?
The climate of mind,
the climate of mind,
the climate of mind,
that’s a real sky worth painting.
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