This Place Is My Field Of Labour Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

Little I know the place I came to
And on whose door to knock.
Little I know the way that leads to heaven
Or to hell!

There are flowers around
And the hills and mountains are beautiful,
Wondrous and touching.

And there are gales and storms,
There are wilderness
And tears of the poor are plentiful.
Blood still flows from the cross of each of us.

Now and then in the silence of the night
I can hear the loud guffaws of rattling guns,
And raucous laughters of murderous explosions!
Little I know the place I came to.

Something in me say, still
I know this place, dear to me now
Dear to me always
The same that inside me secretly send waves after waves of peace.

Make of it whatever you want.
It is not your place,
Nor mine.
Grow bloodshed or bullets as you please,

But for me I will not cease to run seas and oceans
Of love and gaiety.
One day we will certainly reap the fruits from our labour!