I saw the Sun call the dew home this morning,
They went, robed in the iridescence that seemed
to crown a blade of grass with a drop of rainbow.
Transience was thus, immortalised.
I heard the sparrows coax the morning sun out of its nest, with a song soaked in lively summer,
peppered with a few impatient notes.
Birdsong was the only language that the morning sun understood.
I saw the sky being sent for Spring Cleaning, I saw the Night be scrubbed off, and fresh blues
in every shade of the sea taking its place.
The Cosmos began anew every single day.
We always look for Art
within the frames of a canvas,
within the notations of a musical book and
within the lines of a journal,
confined and cramped
I saw Art that could fit into a thousand notebooks, galleries and music books
unfold, with a single Sunrise.
This Art was wild, chaotic and free.