The Wings of the Simorgh

Look to the Candle burning slowly in the window, See in its burning desire, it melts away any form of self, becoming one with the air on fire. Such is the life of a Candle, its purpose is the immolation of Self. and without this, the candle would not exist. We too are the candles of the world lighting the flame of life. However, only the Lovers see themselves as such, and dance in this fiery flare! Learn for Attar's moth, who learned such secrets by dousing his very existence in the light, and who still soars among every flickering torch, his being is the wax and wane of the dancing glow.

The breaking of my Waterman, sent me to Ebay once again, and bid after bid, pen after pen, I won a beautiful Parker with a golden green grid. With my Parker and journal, my vision became clearer, and my heart grew fonder. The pen started to dance on the soft clairfontaine; my hand was just along for the ride. Although I know many came before me with this ancient instrument of love, this pen and my hand were fused as one, dancing the timeless tango, each step flowing gracefully into the next as lines of poetry were left on the page as an afterthought to this personification of love. This pen of the Beloved, the ink flows like the Nile, the golden nib glistens while it slowly bleeds and cries, the pain of love is visible to all who see where this pen has been. and like all pens this too shall dry up one day, when the dancing Parker can no longer sing.

It seemed like yesterday, when the warmth from your embrace brought joy to life. As you have left me from this world to the next, Only the memories are there for me to cherish. Although the sweet wine which ran through your veins has since dried up, Your soul lives on, Conjoined with mine, My every action reflects yours, The lustful memories brings youth to my body and soul, And like a necromancer, I bring you back to life! I do not mourn your loss, But celebrate this marriage between your soul and mine, As every breath I take is for you. Each heartbeat is yours, You and I are entwined like the rosevines growing on the old tavern, And the thorns of our union prick those Who do not understand and question the connection between us.