The holy land of Blue mountains,
Encircled by a bracelet shaped beach
Konark is a legend,
narrating a legacy of the divine...
Here stood, with a princely gait
A majestic chariot, carrying the glory of the past
Intricately woven into its pillars and walls,
timeless tales of saints and lords.
A chill ran down my spine and
I knew the magic has been done...
Slowly the ghungroos, and mridanga tuned with the gargling waves
The sound from the flute sweetened the salty wind
Each curve of the body ensued an artistry
that echoed the story written in the stones...
The cosmic rhythm infused the muted sculptures and hypnotized the audience
Under the moonlit sky
Konark was enliven into a tangible divinity
