Sun’s own day

The finger is pointed to a new flower in balcony
And thence to a rainless cloud ,a sprouting sun.

A translucent blue defers to the low-rise of gold
In the blankest sky, ever eaten by pearly clouds .

The wind plays mischief with yesterday’s flower
And flower promptly drops from helpless mom.

All this while, our sun friend would rise leisurely
On a lazy Sunday from under a sleeping blanket

Of thick and silky cotton rolls of a rainless cloud.
Sunday is his own day,not other son-of-a-gun’s.


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