Ashes Of The Past

The Humming bird that hovers in my mind,
Keeps hovering backwards.
It has a habit of visiting the Fozzilised past.
The decayed past that opens out the decayed smell very often.
The past is a Frivolous garden,
where one can find no lush greenery,
 but charred, crushed leaves
of the trampled, bruised memories.
I had buried the injured past,
under the mound of the fake smiles, that was faked
a million times.
But the adamant bird, spreads its wings-small but large-
flies  back
Everytime it visits the razed garden,
the garden eats it up, roasting its flesh.
But it rises as a phoenix, from the tears that the
soil of the garden had absorbed.

Now the humming phoenix, keeps humming in my mind.
Its attached to its birth place.
I leave the patriot free, to go to its land
where it had come from.
The past wont leave me so easily,
even if the phoenix dies, it will
Rise from its Ashes...