A TRIBUTE

My first evening in the company of poets
As I watched and listened with rapt attention
Intellectually understanding, analyzing
Existentially savoring, absorbing the whole experience
Under the cool, starlit evening sky
Airplanes winked in appreciation on their way, way up high.

Closer to ground in wintry weather
Three eminent poets banded together
To present a collage of astounding wizardry
With words and melodious song
From the realm of the exalted
Where true poets belong.

Like a worshipper who had finally met her muse
I sat in this high temple captivated,
Awe struck, silent and bemused.

Back in the shadows if you took note
Stood Mother Nature in a black overcoat.
But just then a colder winter touched my soul
When Joe Winter read my world shook and trembled
As if on the unsteady legs of a newborn foal.

Such towering talent, such incredible insight!
The fullness and knowledge bursting forth into the night.
The happy river Joe spoke of, or was it a babbling brook?
I remember not the words but the rhythm
That sucked me in like a fish on a hook!

The ode to his daughter on her 13th birthday
Inspired me to write a kindred one to my son, without delay!
Of the earthquake in Gujarat he expounded with such depth
I listened in sadness, I secretly wept!
Picture his litany of anguish that turned me gray
So etched were they like tombstones in a tragic replay.

Like Joe, other poets read their piece
And what pieces of sparkling poetry they were!
Food for the soul and music to the ears
The one about dreams that died nearly brought me to tears!

I could visualize the words in color
Rich and red, flowing like the blood coursing thru my veins
No, perhaps they were more like my new Banarasi threads
Shiny and plush and bound to turn heads!

Were the soft, silken words at some godly behest?
Or the artful creation of man at his best
Like a life force they spread out into the night
Enveloping all on this beautiful rooftop height.

I felt fragile and dwarfed by the stupendous gift each had
They excel at description while woe my poetry is just plain bad!
But my spirit is invincible and with the blessing of the Almighty
I shall sing praises and glorify all
Like the gallant and gracious host at Srijan, Sri Vasantji!

I know not whether I will ever make it as a poet at all
If this is an example it’s like breaking wind at the mall!
But I’ll never say die and creativity is all I need
I’ll write until I die or until my fingers first bleed!