The Poet's Land Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

The song I sing
Does not belong to me.
I did not write it
Nor did I copy it from someone either,
It belongs to them
Who like me,
Love to fly their minds to the fantasy lands:
The poet’s land,
Where imagination and experience
Joys, delusions, dreams and heart break
Beauty, love, music and reality
Dance a most transcendental and occult dance;
Of subtle beauty
Finer than the gauzy veils of early morning mist,
Soaked in emerging sunshine.
A shelter for songsters like me,
To indulge in peace and visions.
There I abandon myself to the endless dance of my imagination.
I shiver in auspicious and ecstatic freedom,
And thaw in the embrace of overpowering longings;
There I merge myself in those multiple and formless existences,
Which open my eyes to the end of infinity.
Is this a sweet delusion
Or dream maybe?
Or is it the ultimate reality?
I know. For there I am happy,
Just disarmingly happy,
No language, no sound and no movement
Just an interminable existence.
So, drunk, I catch the wings of flitting songbirds
Which like fireflies
Swarm in the aureate air.
To those who do not know,
the haunting tastes of delusion
Soaked in honey
Last long after the turmoils
In the mind and body have subsided.
But to those who know:
There is no delusion,
There is no reality,
Just the labour before the birth of a song.