Phoenix of an Angel's Crest

It was in an angel’s crest

That I saw the new born,

Perched on top, in a nest.

With its feathers, the colour of ash.

It was already dreaming big.

Hoping not to crash,

Tried to reach out to the flames of this world, it did.

 

It knew that it was no ordinary bird but a phoenix.

It knew what lay ahead of itself in the future.

It knew that the twigs that she comforted herself in

Were actually its ashes that she will again nurture.

 

Hope. Its well is never empty for the bird.

Faith. With it, to burst into flames she can afford.

Gratitude. In each new life, the hues of its body thank the past ones.

Blazing out the atrocities,

Blessing with its tears, the deserving ones.

Pride. Not arrogance, is what makes it spread life.

Makes it live not just once,

But times five.

Security. The sense of it is what makes it soar high.

To break its shackles,

To go higher than high.

 

That magnificent bird: A treat to the eyes.

Its tail sprinkles sparkling tinges,

It’s no mere ash.

With colours now, it flies.

 

The splendour of its colour,

Its frame and its valour,

Who could bring us such happiness?

Not once, but again,

Again and again.

Remember, I do, it was only from pain.

 The answers, I can think not many.

It is the one, not just any.

He is the saviour, our messiah.

He brings us from darkness to light,

From up above, even higher.

 

It brings my memories flooding back,

It flashes by, that godly bird.

It skims past before my glowing eyes.

With each of its flights, it makes itself heard.

 

I hear a mystic voice.

Its magnanimity convinces me that it is pleasant.

“The tale is true”, says its poise.

But those hues, they say it loud, in a manner-decent.

 

“All of it was started in a tender nest.

Which was once held in an angel’s crest.”

Saying thus, it waves its good-byes.

Bursts into fragments,

Searches its ashes for unfound joys.