THE BURNING LETTER

The letter carrying all the myriad letters dripping with lust and love
Feels strangely unloved, forsaken, once delivered to the beloved.
 
All the words drawn in beauteous shapes and  metaphors
The fragrant feelings change sides, once delivered to the beloved.
 
The mighty rivers of emotions and wondrous poetry flow
Leaving the letter thirsty as ever, once delivered to the beloved.
 
The gentle flowers and the sprightly fountains, those misty mountains
Coalesce, evaporate, become another, once delivered to the beloved.
 
The architectural marvels, those emblems of everlasting affection
Move on, tumble and transfer, once delivered to the beloved.
 
Those eternal promises, vehement declarations, panegyrics of beauty and talent
Obliterate, leaving the letter bereft, once delivered to the beloved.
 
The letter bemoans enduring solitude and emptiness made slightly bearable
Before that fateful, final moment, once delivered to the beloved.
 
The frantic fingers, feverish lips and saline pearls though
Leave behind a timeless trace on the letter once delivered to the beloved.
 
The letter summons all cosmic forces to aid it just for once,
To get a whiff of fulfilment after years of service rendered once delivered to the beloved.
 
It's dearest wish, an immortal longing, granted only once in eons,
And the letter burns to ashes with the ever loveliest message encased within,
before it was once more delivered to the beloved
 
The mistress curses, moans in agony, wrings her hands in vain
for the last message, lost to the ashes united in eternity with the beloved.
 
 
WILL THE PHOENIX STILL RISE ….
 
'And Still I'll rise again', said Maya
I'll rise like dust said she
Some stories are different however,
Whether it a girl or a woman be.
 
'A girl with diamonds at the meeting of her thighs',
Many times in her life, oh yes she tries,
To dance away her trials and her woes,
Wading through seas of deceit, hope and lies.
 
As a woman, far more chastised,
Stifling her dreams, gulping all she despised,
Her only aim, to stay up and afloat,
With her wings shorn off, and her stature downsized.
 
And she turns once more to Maya, for spirit and inspiration,
But unable to look past her own pain and desperation,
Rooted evermore in fear, horror and the perpetual strain,
Fails miserably to spur her life's deliberation.
 
She's the babe, the girl and the woman, with her unruly mane,
She fights all life, in the sun and in rain,
And at last she asks, both herself and all,
Will the Phoenix still rise, rise once again?