A weary paint brush,
Within a dexterous hand,
Flew up in the air,
As a painting was born.

Walking on air they climbed,
The state of victory,
As this was that beautiful dawn,
When the outcome of their master's imagination,
A painting was born.

The canvas which was once,
Like a firmanent, without birds.
Now filled up...
With rainbow of innumerable beauty,
Leaving the viewer with a lips without words.

Frozen hues,
And molten blues,
Unluckily saw from the glowing tiles,
How their lost opportunity stood in the sun's spotlight,
Declaring and announcing,
About its beauty above miles.

The sun too stood proudly,
Gratified,
As it was when its first light shone,
That this alluring, aesthetic
Painting was born.
© Aarya kareepadath