Mother Sathya Sai

Poetry

The Storm

by Karen Chenowith

For time moved in the rhythm of a child like awe of the wonders of nature.

With hands held high, I embraced the majesty of creator.

Searing the sky in jagged stripes of white light,

Lightening.

Sound resounding.

Echoing through the peaks and valleys of the hills,

Thunder.

Again a blaze of light.

Puttaparthi below.

The form in an orange robe,

Transformed to black sky.

Swirling rain clouds,

Droplets of moisture caressing the face.

I knew profound love.

Unchecked grace,

The touch of the master artist,

In hues of gray and black.

In the cavern of my heart,

Etched on my soul,

A precious gift of Love that night.

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