Sun's Mandate
The sun, a brass gong,
a brassy, blazing command,
it wakes the world,
with a fiery, golden hand.
The air, a hesitant breath,
in a nascent, cool embrace,
now exhales,
warming with the sun's grace.
The earth, a jade canvas,
in emerald light, it lies,
dappled, vibrant,
shimmering under golden skies.
The trees, a verdant legion,
stand tall,
reaching for the sun's rays,
in an arboreal, vibrant thrall.
And then, a slow descent,
the sun, a tilted coin,
it's light, a slanting fire,
on a canvas, now stained with wine.
The earth, in ochre draped,
hushed, in golden afterglow,
embraces the waning sun,
as shadows lengthen, softly grow.
The wind, a sigh of cool air,
brushes the twilight sky,
with the day's farewell,
as night's curtain begins to lie.
And on the tongue, the lingering taste,
of sunlit warmth,
a fading, sun-kissed sigh,
a promise of dawn, in the heart of the night.
Copyright ©
Dr. Padmashree R P
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