The Wings of the Simorgh

The trees stood gallantly against the riverbed, as they watched over the small village and its people, the villagers respected the forest which hosted them, as the forest was millennia older than them. Villagers used the trees for food, from Brazil nuts to Coconuts, the bounties of hte trees helped feed the village. The bushy palms even surrender their hearts to the villagers, as the people feast on the Lover's source They used other trees as timber, to build homes that sheltered their families from the rains, and to build the boats that sent them pulsing through the tributaries  like cells pulsing through the body. But as time passed, The villagers began to lose respect of the forest their forefathers taught them. And as the machetes and saws came to the villages, Paths were cut through the virgin forests, a deep wound that could only fester and cause death to the entire jungle. As each tree was brutally slain by steel, the trees all swayed in a united sadness,

The small bird sings,  as it calls and croons to its lover, the frog laughs at the birds desparate plea, for it to understands the plight of the bird. As the rains fall upon the weaved thatched roof of the native homes, the spider lies under the steps, hiding from the dancing rains, as they bounce off the roof, landing on the collection of leaves laying on the forest floor. The colorful flowers of the banana trees, entrances the playful monkey, as it with friends, makes its ways to feast on the fruits, the tree has spent months to produce. All this happens while the ever-watchful sun looks down upon its subjects, as kings observe their own. Even at night, the sun's vizier, the moon, keeps the wilderness of the Amazon at work.

The City surrounded by three Rivers, No need for a moat, ast there are no roads going in and out, Iquitos is the beating heart, the small veins that run through it are bursting with motorkars, each like a blood cell all pulsing. Without the rivers, Iquitos would be nothing, without Iquitos, the rivers would be virgin like Lover and Beloved, Iquitos longs for the wet embrace of the Forest. And when the rain arrives, Iquitos opens His arms, and lets her amazonian rains through, the tin roofs and plaster walls. As the Peruvian people live each day at the mercy of the rivers around them, they give thanks to that which gives them the wealth of the city.