The Book Of Life Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

The mind is like the ocean.
We are in it but still nowhere in it.
Life after life we come to these shores
And enjoy the sunrises and deplore the sunsets.

Still every time they are new.
Sometimes perchance we know where we are
At other times mostly we do not.

It is the same beautiful world,
Glorious with panoplies of flowers,
Hills and mountains and lovely people,
Wondrous festivals at nights as stars
blaze forth their endless tinsels of lights.

We sit on these shores and watch the waves and the billows
Rise and fume,
Playing with rough and polished pebbles,
leaving behind little gifts of joys and smiles
Or even greater maelstroms of tears and despair.

We wait for the sun to rise
And the suffering to end,
For tomorrow's sun to heal the scars.
The wait is always long and tedious
and the happiness flitting fast.

How sweet, a new baby is born!
How devastating someone close has to leave,
for ever,
And ever!
Laugh if you can
Or cry,
but the book of life never closes.

The writing is unstoppable,
page after page, our own hands write the records of our destinies' history.
God watches, helpless.
We live by our will.

How could he interfere with what we ourselves willingly wrote?
The words are ours
The choice of directions and the goals are ours
And the finished book.
The elation and the heartbreaks must also be ours,
right or wrong!

Now and then between areas of long years,
To reprieve
God comes down to show us the way to end our pain.
Blessed are they who listen, accept
And act on his advice,
For there shall be no more tears in their eyes,
Ever!