A New Grace Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

Oh song, grieve not, the noise is everywhere,
This world is in the mood to play.
You are fated to be buried alive in a swath of dust.
You life may be short
And your message never be heard.
But grieve not.
Even the loneliest flower tucked away
In the harshest desert sand has its importance
In God’s eyes.
Nothing goes unnoticed.
This world is a busy market place.
Forgive it,
For somewhere, sometimes in the future
When reason and silence have their own,
Someone, craving for comfort,
Tears in his eyes
And emptiness in his heart,
Someone will lift you from your bed of dusts.
You will then live again, rising from every word
Every note
Shivering into life like a tender flower
From the bud at the break of dawn.
Your voice will ring in the wind.
Those hills will again echo to the morning sun’s adoration
and in their hearts sing the songs
That you sing to them.
The village will resound.
The world will dance.
Rain will fall.
Green grass will grow.
And dark clouds will turn gold in the embrace of passing moonbeams.
You will rise fresh from the ash
And fill the aureate air with joy,
That knows no religion, no hatred, no demarcation,
All will be joy.
Nothing but joy.
The world will be young again,
And innocent smiles will blaze
Like sunbeams.
Darkness will fly.
You will sing.
I will sing
We shall all sing.
For we will be blessed with a new grace:
The grace of a golden age.
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