Mohabeer Beeharry Poems
The Flower Of Your Heart
I brought a flower to him.
The wise old man shook his head.
Child, he said
I made the trees and the flowers;
I made the sun that gives warmth,
I made the rains that water the trees
That give flowers and fruits.
These I have given to you,
And you bring them back to me?
Give me something that I do not have,
That I cannot create myself:
Your love, your faith, your sincerity.
I want the flowers of your heart.
These I do not have.
On these I live.
For these I come again and again
Knocking at your door like a mendicant
Accepting tortures ...
What do I care if mountains topple and rivers flood!
This body falls and disintegrates!
I was not intended to last for a day.
I was here before the planets,
The mountains, the rivers and the waterfalls!
Before the first flower that ever bloomed.
I have seen many a day rise, their sheen,
Like the will- o'-the-wisp, disappeared into the dark nights of hopelessness;
Rivers swallowed by the thirsty cradles of the parched earth.