As you go through the ancient street
closer to the Dome, the air starts to mold,
turning into marble—both green and white
—and as it does, it further grows and soars,
by taking on a shape of cathedral, and you
cannot help but raise your eyes to the sky—
and step by step you begin to sense and see:
the divine too needs a living space and mode
to strike its own imprints deeper into our hearts
till the soul is reached or forged as its valid coin
with which beauty buys yet another mortal life,
and whoever becomes such a seeing one enters
a transcending sight, carved out of the sublime,
and there one is recast into bands of rising light.
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