Brilliant shades of golden yellow
As though touched by Midas,
The sun throws its rays around,
Setting the skies on fire,
Drenching me in the warm glow,
Sinking back into the horizon,
The warmth goes away,
The painted skies remain.
Golden yellow turns coral,
A tinge of blood orange seeps in,
Glowing clouds floating about,
A sight so breathtaking,
I couldn’t dream of such a thing,
No matter how I wanted to;
A beauty that evades all canvases
Except for my heart and memory.
Just the sun sinking lower,
And the sound of rustling breeze,
I sit by the window as I watch
The evening change colours with ease,
From honey-golden to soft pink,
As though the Sun decided to paint
The skies with all the colours of the wind,
What else could it be, if not magic?
I wonder what artist paints the sky,
A different colour every day,
Only to fade into the night,
I wonder what they have to say.
If I held my breath long enough,
And opened my mind,
Would I see their message
As clear as day?
Every new sunset,
Every other day,
A whole new kind of magic,
No two evenings the same—
Oh, how I wish I could be
A part of the painted skies!
But all I am is yet another witness,
Awestruck and wide-eyed.
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.