A Phoenix’s Dirge

Undeniably, I could hear it coming from that Arabian tree. The most audible sound, the most symphonic song produced by her.

But wait! It was not an ordinary tune. It was neither a chant nor a ballad. If I were not mistaken, it was a threnody. I could say so. Because I saw everything.

The incandescence that was evident in the Arabian tree would surely blind me. Nonetheless, I couldn’t make myself look away from that art.

It was a son et lumiere.

This “light and music” was created by her, the Phoenix.

She was the source of that blinding light, the font of that beauteous song. Her singing could be heard by everyone in the environs.

Her music just went on and on until it suddenly ceased when a Turtle-dove arrived. Her inspiration, her source of strength. If winking meant gladness of the Phoenix because of the Turtle-dove’s advent, then I could say that she was glad. But her happiness was evanescent.

She had waited for him to come. For eons, she built walls around her to shun meeting new mates, hoping for his return.

But now that he had come back, her source of strength was frail. A bleeding wound near his heart was the cause of the Turtle-dove’s decline of vigor. A tear fell from one of the Phoenix’s eyes.

Then abruptly, the Turtle-dove began singing. And the Phoenix sang with him. Songs of a forbidden love.

And sooner, the Turtle-dove passed away.

Life’s too short for him. But not for her. She had almost all the time to live. And she was unhappy because of that. Imagine living alone for the rest of eternity. Yes, she was able to die too. But when? How? After death, she would be reborn and would be living lugubriously again in this world.

I was sorry for her. I know it would really hard for her to live in that way.

And the Phoenix resumed her impeded singing.

As she hummed, she carried her inamorato, unfurled her wings and readied herself to fly. But as their bodies collided, they blended into one. Everything was ablaze. The bird was ferociously burning herself until it was turned into ashes. From those ashes generated a new Phoenix, a bird that was destined to live as long as its old self.

And that meant another millennium for suffering. Another life for pain. Rejuvenation for solitude.

And it flew away, leaving no signs of her existence but the smoldering Arabian tree.

Then the crack of dawn followed. I consumed my time in a deep sleep. And the song of lamentation of the Phoenix still rang in my ear.