The Phoenix

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The Phoenix In

India lives a bird that is unique: The lovely phoenix has a long, hard beak Pierced with a hundred holes, just like a flute – It has no mate, its reign is absolute. Each opening has a different sound; each sound Means something secret, subtle and profound – And as these shrill, lamenting notes are heard, A silence falls on every listening bird; Even the fish grow still. It was from this Sad chant a sage learnt music’s artifice. The phoenix’ life endures a thousand years And, long before, he knows when death appear; When death’s sharp pangs assail his tiring heart, And all signs tell him he must now

depart, He builds a pyre from logs and massy trees And from its centre sings sad threnodies – Each plaintive note trills out, from each pierced hold Comes evidence of his untarnished soul – Now like a mourner’s ululating cries, Now with an inward care the cadence dies – And as he sings of

death, death’s bitter grief Thrills through him and he trembles like a leaf. Then drawn to him by his heart-piercing calls The birds approach, and savage animals – They watch, and watching grieve; each in his mind Determines he will leave the world behind. Some weep in

sympathy and some grow faint; Some die to hear his passionate complaint. So death draws near, and as the phoenix sings A flame darts out and licks across the pyre – Now wood and phoenix are a raging fire, Which slowly sinks from that first livid flash To soft, collapsing charcoal, then to ash: The pyre’s consumed – and from the ashy bed A little phoenix pushes up its head. What other creature can – throughout the earth – After death takes him, to himself give birth? If you were given all the phoenix years, Still you would have to die when death appears. For years he sings in solitary pain And must companionless, unmated, reign; No children cheer his age and at his death His ash is scattered by the wind’s cold breath. Now understand that none, however sly, Can slip past death’s sharp claws – we all must die; None is immortal in the world’s vast length; This wonder shows no creature has the strength To keep death’s ruthless vehemence in check – But we must soften his imperious neck; Though many tasks will fall to us, this task Remains the hardest that the Way will ask. __________________________________________________

[Guest guest]

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