He throws open the doors
Of the house in the East
And begins his daily chore -
Melting pearls in a crucible
He paints the ceiling white,
Spilling light on the world below.

Instantly, something begins to bubble,
A whirlpool of molten gems,
And rises into a fountain;
The closed eyelids of flower buds
Pop open, like magic,
As if in a reaction.

Glistening on top of leaves
And hidden in the flowers
Are little drops of nectar -
Now whose hands have brought them
From the distant clouds
And placed them here, I wonder!

Petals of flowers,
Like miniature fans,
In the hands of the gentle breeze
Cover the bodies
With scented pollen
Before shooing away the bees

From the throats of shrubbery
A song erupts, then two,
And soon there are a countless -
Pray tell, is this a forestland,
Or have I stepped into
Instead the land of angels?

Beauty to behold and tastes to savour,
Sounds for the ears and scents for the nose,
For the skin, the exhilaration of touch -
All my senses so richly perceive
The handiwork of the Almighty,
The tireless labour of divine love

The depths I cannot fathom,
The meaning I cannot grasp,
The colour my eyes fail to see -
Peace manifested itself in its purity
And spoke to me lovingly -
O just a daybreak this couldn't be!



(c) 2014, C.P. Ravikumar

Ravikumar C.P.

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-daybreak-3/