Hope Will Survive Poem by Mohabeer Beeharry

That morning
The sun rose early
And drove the rowdy spates of cold shadows
That like tattered shrouds
Haunted the lonely village wood.

From the pages of the new born day
I read hope.

Strange how the days run.
I am old now
The sky is not the same
And the sun rays hurt.

Those lovely hills
And mountains,
Once treasure troves of endless inspirations,
Have lost their exuberance.
Patches of ugly dryness hurt my heart.

Some rise with thunder
And lightening too.
Others are welcome with lush sunshine
And smiles
And hope blossoms.

Still others,
After a searing night of warring despair
Wake up with threats of bloodshed
And songs of flying bullets.

Shrivelled in buds
Peace writhes in pain.
This is the language of the new world.

This the time
When tender flowers bear thorns,
And love spawns heartless hatred,

Outcome of educated trash
And ignorance,
When behind screens of vague and suspicious knowledge,
wisdom cries alone

Once we grew flowers.
Once we grew love.
Now morphed by spiritual liars
They wane in confused hearts.

This is not your world
Nor mine.
It is his who made it.

Despite songs of bullets
And thunders of empty haranguing
Cows will continue to bear milk,
Lambs to be born

Humanity is here to stay.
The sun will continue to rise
And the moon to call the night in.

As long as light of faith burns in this frail frame
Hope will survive
For one candle is enough to light a thousand more.