Phoenix

The breeze has returned to the waveless sea.
The river has returned to the thirsty plains.
The lamp has returned to the dark chamber.
The sand has returned to the empty desert.
The snow has returned to the bald mountains.
The tree has returned to the colourless forest.

The colours have returned to the rainbow.
The fragrance has returned to the perfume.
The tenderness has returned to the petals.
The melody has returned to the music.
The sugar has returned to the candy.
The beauty has returned to the art.

The strength has returned to the weak.
The success has returned to the failed.
The sight has returned to the blind.
The innocence has returned to the child.
The knowledge has returned to the seeker.
The happiness has returned to the self.

The Hour-glass has already turned

I open the rusted mail box,
Hoping for a familiar hand writing.
It is empty.
I pick up the receiver,
To hear those old voices.
It is silent.
I flip through old photographs,
To sense the happiness in those smiles.
They are torn.
I wear those old clothes,
To feel the colours of the past.
They have faded.
I open a fresh leaf,
To immortalise those memories.
I cannot bring them back.
Sigh. The hour-glass has already turned.
P.S 1st November, 2008: Weirdly, this post reminds me of 'Will you remember' by The Cranberries.