Now, even the illusions are gone…
Have I restored my sanity?
If that is so, —I do not desire it!
Sanity—Reality.
No! …too much reality is feeding on my life:
Dispossessing me of Beatitude!
I pick up the Phoenix's feathers
And I reconstruct my wings:
White, swift, travelling the distances
Of my heart's desire:
Far, yet near;
Passed, but present;
Young, but matured with endurance;
Elusive, yet real—
Persistent here:
Between your thoughts and mine,
Between your heart and mine,
Crossing the time: —
The rose-buds have not yet withered!
We are returning to innocence,
Searching for the bulbs
We have planted in our spring—
They have yet to blossom: —
Let's attend to them!
With gentleness, and affection;
Water them
With our restrained tears;
Kiss them
With our silent whispers of mystery,
Revealing the love we two imparted:
Make them witnesses to our secret:
Turning secret to realisation
Till we shall no longer dream!
But dream
Of our next touch,
Whisper, sigh,
Inflection of voice trembling with emotion—
Our love
Manifesting through
The perceptible and the imperceptible senses:
As only Love can do!
I pick up the phoenix features... wonderful expression. Loved this poem dear poetess. Full marks
One of many beautiful images from this work is when you said you use feather of pheonix to reconstruct your wings...that just beautifully expressed, loved it! .
my mind regenerates, invigorates with every word you write a slave to your phoenix and A fool for the love of your poetry I can no longer write my dull ones after reading yours 10++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely poem. Catastrophes may happen in our lives any time. We need to rise from our ashes like phoenix.