Prism

For the hundredth time I drive along

a patch of Sammamish (Parkway) lined by leafless maples

The evening air is heavy with rain droplets

drifting down to the earth singing a song

The sky is a huge canopy of clouds gray and menacing,

Though now impotent, squeezed clean of their treasures!

A sudden breach on the western horizon and

a huge cosmic light shines thru, the mist sparkling

An instinctive glance to my right and, Lo behold!!

A great colorful arc adorns a deep dark canvas

A gateway inviting to the universe beyond

Of mysteries ancient and untold

Colors jostle for a place, though each has its way

Surely a riot of colors, though they are but seven

Green tries to outshine the yellow, reassuring

the leafless maples that spring isn't far away!

 

 

Abhay B. Joshi

April 2014