Brother Phoenix
How repair the eyes,
cried themselves to blindness,
to bid them visualise anew
through ghetto-blurred unkindness?
How repair the mind,
dried with dust and sadness,
so it may idealise again,
dispel the clouds of madness?
How repair the skin,
torn and rent asunder,
that it will energise again,
inflamed with blood and thunder?
How repair the soul,
when it burns and bleeds,
to force it sermonise once more
when Satan holds the deeds?
How repair the heart
that dreams depend upon,
feel it synchronise with time
when life is dead and gone?
I will from cold ashes rise,
triumphant as no other,
on wings of faith and urban hymns,
the phoenix has a brother.
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