If I were a poet I would let the beauty of the world fall from my ripened tongue into the outstretched arms of the waiting earth, seed it with my juicy words, and cry upon the growing buds until their fruits become a blanket for the world. I would grasp the meaning in the stars and spin mighty tales of their deeds and sacrifices. I would take what is watery in the waters, and through my words make it wetter in my fellow’s ears. No reluctant cave would be too deep to fathom, no sidewalk crack too petty to notice, no whimsical smile too fleeting to sing of, no wandering cloud too distant to be blessed. Even the tiny sound of autumn leaves, spinning slowly towards the breathless soil below, becomes a chorale of light and wonder when attended by a poet’s ear. These shimmering delicacies are fare for the poet’s soul, the marrow and milk of life. Without beauty sublime, and human love shining forth in response, Vishnu’s step falters, and our very tears become brittle and tasteless.
You, all of you, are here because there is a yearning in your heart, a silent hollow space that resonates with the Word Creative, and it lies softly in your breast, waiting like a diamond for the light. So let us all become poets; let our ears and eyes seek the beauties of the world, and let our hearts and minds be filled with the tender imaginations of the infinite. For then our thoughts will become the revelation of thinking, our words become the creators of life, and our very deeds will themselves become poems.