A Touch Of Wisdom Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

Poetry is not just lining up words
Closet them within a set of rules
And spin them out to cry and die.

Words are not deadsticks
They have a Soul
And they have more strength than we can think of.

They are the keepers of our deepest secrets,
Joys, laughters and sadness, restlessness
wonders and inspirations too.

In times of sadness
They are the unseen tears that rise in the heart
In joy, the concealed rivers of subtle and fine feelings.

There is no beauty in deliberate confinement.
Keep a bird in a cage,
And it dies a slow and miserable death.

For freedom is Word
And Word is Poetry.
Freedom is beauty, thevery nature of the cosmic Soul.

Poetry isthe mergence of beauty and freedom,
That droops and dies when forgotten
behind heartless prison bars of the marauding mind.

Poetry is flowers alive,
Swaying in the breeze and wind
Poetry is the silence on the evening shore
And the inspirations of the ripples.

The wind that sweeps the dusty roads of the village
Into furls of dancing wonders,
The flamboyant in conflagrations,
The village well where women chatter
And children play.

Where dusts, hibiscus andtender morning sunshine
Merge to play the ancient symphony of simple everyday life,
Where the ox cart steel wheel crunches on the brittle road.
This is Word in action
And Poetry blooms.

For life is free,
Oh set me free too,
Free from the confinements of books,
And religions and hypocrisy,
They have made a willing slave of me.

Let me wander in the subtle labyrinths of life,
Lost but wise
And myself.
Let my mind rise to the beauty of the hills
And mountains,

Let me merge into the joys of the gregarious bees
Let me like the fireflies dance in the dark
And die to rise into a Phoenix of eternal light.

I shall be here my friend when you return
To seek the ever lasting freedom in poetry.
My words will echo from antiquated pages of time.

I shall be here to tie the knot of love
The love that you knew and lost
The love that transcends books and holy places
The same that makes the sun rise
And set
And gives gentle fire to the stars.

We shall in a new bouquet of the starry moonlit nights
And the immortal fragrance of the queen of the night,
Welcome the love that never died
written in the immortal language of timeless poetry.