Wrapped in,
linen,
Soft and pink,
Emerges the baby SUN,
From the eastern wing.
Trembles not,
Nor does he stumble;
Though yet a baby,
Rises with a steady walk.
In a pram, orangish yellow;
Keeps pushing upright,
Making the baby;
Looks a little more bright.
And adolescent, riding a chariot not pram;
Changed to brighter robes;
Looks around with much pride.
Spreading wings wide,
Stands the youth;
In the mid of the sky.
"I bear the torch"
To keep the day,
Warm and bright.
Alas! The grace fades away,
Tired and exhausted HE
Walks away,
To the western wing,
Saying a good bye
To all the worldly beings.
-Usha
