Ode To The Fireflies Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

Like a tender screen
The summer dark slowly furl down from the mountains,
No sounds of footsteps
No eerie tremour psych from the parting daylight.

As the village gradually eases into an ecstatic slumber,
The tired and breathless breeze comes to roost on the darkening woodland.
Trees cease to strum,
Birds to fly.

In the remote serenity of that vast space above,
A straggly handful of stars look down like silver tinsels.
It is the world of tranquility, of dreams,
A time to unshackle oneself free from the chains of daily servility,
To surrender to the sweet inebriation of the restful night.

But not so with the fireflies!
There is madness in the air,
There is exultation
There is extravagance of endless dances,
There is music of unheard-of mystic enchantment.

See the dance in your mind's eye.
In your heart, hear the music.
If you are subtle enough, you will see the transcendental dances.

You will be wrapped into waves after waves of cosmic sounds,
Flute, gentle harp and choir of birds, and running water
Tinkling of temple bells
And chimes of mighty church bells.

You will see the shivers of their translucent wings
As they flit round the street lights
And dance in utter abandonment.

However hard I spinmy muse,
However broadly I throw the nets of my words in that warm moonlit air,
They return empty
My heart still insatiated,
Drunk, exulting in those endless dreams of fast dives
And plunges
And cheeky exuberance of slashes and dips.

They are fireflies, I tell myself,
Not me not you.
There is no world
There is no space, and there is no thinking
There is no failures
And there is no success.

There is only love
And the fire.
Only them and endlessmusical motions
Into the infinite joys of self- immolation.