Who Is He Who Made The All? Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

The temple bells have rung
Sweet music of silence invades the air
As darkness hails the parting of an exhausted sun.

It has been hot all day,
One of those days that turn the village woodland rocks into hot plates
And made the roadside reeds droop.

Like my flock of goats, I had sought the shade
And shared with them the rare and stray blessing of a cool breeze,
And blew on my reed pipe.

Now at quiet, sitting in front of my shed
I look at the stars
And wonder at whoever made them.

He who made them made me too, surely
And my goats and my dog and the wondrous valley
Down below the slope, pass the old cemetery!

I love to feel that I am not alone,
He is somewhere near who made it all.
He hides in the valley behind the blooms.

He paints the sun rise
And the sunset.
I have not seen the sea, but they say he is there too
And in the tender little brook that babbles all day and night.

Is not this lovely?
Maybe I ought to look for him.
He must be a wonderful guy to give us so many a beautiful thing.
And free too!