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.
