Mohabeer Beeharry (23 November 1937 / Mauritius)
The mystic sounds
Often as I sit
My back to the silver-leaf tree,
And letting the silent chanting
Of the evening sea lull me to a quiet,
Leaving the robust world behind,
My eyes quiver to a peaceful rest.
And another world is born,
Teeming with new imageries and new sounds.
I hear strange and unknown music in my ears;
Sounds of harps and flute;
Of ceaseless choirs of birds and church bells.
Smaller bells tinkling,
Vying with one another
a symphony mellow, sweet and inebriating
Rising from places far beyond my understanding.
And when the peace deepens,
At the back of my head
Rise a roar of the ocean and a roll of thunder.
Then, the most spectacular of all
The sounds of running water,
Gradually easing the breath to a mystic stop:
Death comes and death goes,
Leaving me unbruised,
Drenched in the mellifluous arms of an ecstatic peace.
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