This Life Is For Real Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

Who says
That this life
Is a fabricated dream,
A harrowing deception,
That spawns unjustifiable suffering?

Treat not the Lord, love
As sadistic,
Even insensible.
Not a sparrow falls from the tree
That does not break his heart.

In his consciousness,
This cosmic extravaganza is even less than the size of a mustard seed,
Trusted to man
Handed on an unrequited plate,
He did not house man into a fateless bubble
Rolling across the uncertain space for selfish glee.

Think of the innumerable dangers,
This earth encounters;
Comets, black holes, meteors
Are but a paltry few.

Yet love,
The sun continues to rise
And set,
Rain to fall
And from barren soil life to rise
Birds to sing
And man to prosper.

All
With wondrous,
Effortless and meticulous ease.
Suffering sometimes makes fools of us,
And turns us into implacable judges.

We build fortresses in our minds
And set our freedom prisoner,
And make a weapon of our dreams,
A subtle tragedy.

So seek not to ignore this place,
Where buds beget flowers
Bees honey
And the soul learns to excel.

Seek not to possess it either,
As elusive as fireflies it is.
Be guided by the ancient wisdom,
But seek not to guide it.

This is a renewable reality,
A cosmic idea in perpetual modernising,
A perfect fit
For all who live in it,
Every time,
Every season.

Dormant now;
On waking up
After feeding this fragile frame to the cosmic flame
That we rise from the bud,
And know that this temporal life is for real.
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