The Phoenix

Working against heavy odds A little hovel, he did build In a verdant stretch of fertile land Off the noisy, frenzied crowd With sheaves of hay, he thatched its roof With reed and bamboo, its walls were made With mud and charcoal, its floor was glazed With wooden planks, its entrance laid. At dusk, when birds to their nests depart And beasts, to their covert burrows and dens After the days toil, weary and weak He curls into the cozy comfort of his home Through months and years, it gave him succour Sheltered him from storm and rain Made him differ from the gypsy tribe Lent him a footing in this populous world He wove around it many a dream With frugal care, his needs he met Like a squirrel stocking nuts and grains In it's secret granary for the rainy days He saved all that he had earned For a life to be lived later in bliss But alas! His haven lies so derelict Its very foundation raced to the ground The once beautiful stretch of land Robbed of its greenery and grace! The eviction squad usurped his land Hurling him down to the streets! Bewildered, failing to budge an inch Like a boat, midway stranded in sea, He stood. But his resilient spirits, to him affirmed ‘Never defeated, though destroyed' Soon the mud hovel, to a palatial mansion turned Where he envisioned himself king of the land His smiling progeny picking fruits from his orchard And his cattle chewing cud in the shade of trees. Why scoff it as the fancy of a fevered mind? Oh! But to dream is every man's right.