Swan and the Phoenix.

It happens...
Sometime it happens...
When one is bound,
as no chain ever could.
and,
one is down,
as no weight ever would.

One no more gauges,
how much does it weigh,
All one wonders,
is there any other way...?

One doesn't gauge the pain,
all one wonders,
Is the existence, all but vain...?

All one does, is gaze,
as it all gets scraped,
And,
As it take swings,
from utility to futility,
as one tries to locate the lost parity,
with broken wings.

Its now,
when every meaning,
looses its regard,
be it the silver lining,
or the nature's bard.
the rescue remains a nemesis,
much like a desert's oasis.

The instinct to fight,
humbly departs,
reducing one, to mere tarts
Then one knows,
what it mean to be ash,
without the Phoenix,
Hope sinks,
In you...!
And its ironical:-
One has to live,
the death of the Swan.