Molten Gold

A silver droplet flows so quietly
On borrowed weight, the force of the earth
While a lone golden ray tries in vain
To hold up the crystal, barely of girth
The battle is fought and the valiant Sun
Gives up, but doesn't go quietly
It penetrates it with all it's power
And makes it shine, like itself so brightly
A prism of sorts, a knife on colour.
Perhaps there is more to just a tear
Beauty, perhaps, however baleful.

Sreedevi.