Phoenix

Written by Asish Sridhar

Edited by Jaanvi Thorat

Illustrated by Neha Puttaswamy

We all create stories of ourselves. These stories play a huge role in setting up our expectations and perception of ourselves, others and the world. Sometimes these stories form a core part of our motivation and other times imprison us and set up non-existent limitations for the sake of preserving or protecting them whether they are really true or not. This is a story of recognizing our limitations and removing the chains we subconsciously or willingly place on ourselves.

The phoenix is a mythical bird in Greek mythology that is reborn when it burns into ashes and its tears have great healing powers. It is represented as being covered in flames.

In this poem, the use of glasses has been made to represent altered perception, e.g., rose-colored glasses.

The difference in color of smoke given out during combustion-purity and toxicity

Mirror, mirror on the wall.

Yes master, did you call?

It showed me a man, strong and tall or so I thought,

Who is that man, not me!

But master first tell me

Do I show what you are

Or what you want to be?

Who am I? Show me!

The mirror is engulfed with smoke- red, blue, yellow,

Purple, orange and green.

A shudder goes through my spleen.

It clears up and there I see, small, dreary eyes looking at me.

A short man-dark, black smoke on his clothes, burning,

a sight that gets my stomach churning.

A tedious life passes before me, what have I done? Am I really free?

Ah, my glasses I had forgotten. I take them off. No, it is not me but I recognise that man.

With the glasses off I see the illusion.

I finally see the shackles on my hands and open them.

A clanging resounds as the chains hit the ground.

Palms sweaty, my heart pounds

I burn again but this time the smoke is white.

I flap my wings, I fly – my body, enveloped in flames, they still burn like they should, I ignore the pain.

Then I fall. I flap my wings again but I am too tired.

No it isn’t enough.

I am still the same small, tired, desperate man, but it is a start,

the illusion I had placed on myself is coming apart.

It was just a story, a fable, a fantasy

a story that depicts me so poorly.

I wait and I wait; my mind reverberates.

I’m sick of it, another deadline, another dead-time and then bedtime,

Tomorrow, I wake up waiting for something different, waiting for something to change.

It never came.

A million dollars given,

a million dollars spent.

How am I different if I did the same and somebody or something else got the blame while I complained?

I can whine, I can curse but my purse is empty and I have to wait for it to be reimbursed.

The million changed, my circumstances changed, the world changed but I am the same.

What is wrong with you? Why don’t you just change?

How hard is it?

Why don’t you tell me? Don’t you know all the answers?

No, of course not! I’m you.

My fantasy shatters and the mirror disappears.

I cry. I’m tired. And I’m ok.

A run, a jog, a walk, a crawl,

I am tired and I have taken a toll

A book, a page, a para, a line

I am still crying and I’m fine.

I make a string, a twine, a rope

I have changed, I have hope.

It is time, it is mine, I have created a lifeline.

I climb and climb and climb.

And the rope snaps.

I fall. I wait. I recover

I try again.

This time I add another twist,

A rope, a rope and a rope, a hawser.

I did not know what to expect, yet, now,

I have newly found respect for myself.

I climb my lifeline once again.

I climb and climb and climb and climb.

I have made it further, the hawser is strong.

I made it. I am strong. I was wrong.

The pain is also a part,

It is a path.

I am still finding my way up the well.

I fail, I learn, I made it, I yearn.

I made it out of the well. It’s beautiful.

I look back, a journey, it’s beautiful.

In front of me is a world unexplored and I have changed.

I cry, my tears heal my scars, I am the phoenix.

I start ascend into a new world, another life, another journey,

Another cycle.