These are uncertain times and
the more urgent our need for poets who can see
the different shades of gray
in a pale early morning winter sky,
who can hear birdsongs even in the absence
of birds, who can wipe away tears even from far away.
The poet can redefine doom and make it
sweet but a moment of abandon surfaces
when a poet becomes silent and doom
releases its own vile definition.
The message is clear: that poets must be
kept alive for their relevance and for their
ability to rebuke, cajole, lament, praise,
provoke, dream wildly, see deeper truths through metaphors,
symbolisms, rummage through the complexities of
metaphysical thoughts, and courageously touch the beyond.
And I am comforted just by the thought that
they exist in the fullness of life’s reality.