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I burnt myself on a funeral pyre so often

only to rise and melt my wings on ascent


Then I tried Odysseus’ underworld instead

but Ariadne’s thread did not glow in the dark


When my Trojan horse stopped at the Styx

the stamp in my passport refused passage 

to an inner Self immolated at the stakes

of bewitched destiny spelled in its charcoal


Ashes and heated smoke screens surrendered


At gun point from an armed barrel I revolved

reincarnation showed no mercy nor fortune

Jesus might have died on the cross but mine

was too difficult to bear and Judas kept calling


The wheel of life had no spokes and no centre

the rim lip continued to fail the kind kiss of life

as much as I tried a rectangular peg in a round whole

I could not square the circuit like a circus clown

in frivolous garments shredded to ragged attire

even the Buddha’s loin cloth slipped from my waist


Wasted I counted a trajectory of celestial promise

and came to realized that Phoenix needed a comet

for a torched body and mind have to settle before

they can fly high above and narrate their own story


As wax waned and polish refused to stick on demand

ember of incendiary destruction warranted new flight

once freezing and fighting rested in smouldering flames


23rd March 2021

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