"Thistle" slumbers on the heart of a lost poet who is trying to capture the waves of inspiration once again. With the last iota of strength, the poet depicts her lament for "the days of yore" when life had a different shade of happiness. It is also a call for all those lost souls shackled in the claws of bitterness and wrath; a piece of advice - a soul is lighter and healthier if we let our rage go; stop being it captive. In the end, "Thistle" is a whisper in these vociferous times.
The thistle on my soul
pokes, burns, then grows
again, out of the ashes.
This thistle is a black Phoenix!
With the wings of an Albatross,
strong and magnificent
it never stops
but it dives into my skies
by days and by nights
then, turns into a thistle again