On passing by a crowded lane,
I greet people and their dreams;
Lest some call us poets vain,
Suspend all blasphemes.
Those who crave an immortal place,
Are welcome to share the fire;
Now that you’ve joined the race,
Scorch not what others desire.
What do poets do?
Foremost, they make you think.
All this effort which they knew,
Surely didn’t come in a blink.
The poet’s message will travel
Longer than I hope they do;
Poets love to unravel
What many won’t undo.
They are masters of words,
Bewitchers of senses
Soothing balms of the soul
Protectors of Order,
Soothsayers of Old.
They are Wordsmiths, Diviners,
Mentors, and Friend,
Blessing the Lost
With their Omnipresence.
Beckoning now like the distant thunder,
With dazzling bolts of lyrical rhymes,
Awakening the thoughts to plunder
The sweetness of enraptured times.
Now the poet will move the unmoved,
And speak like the tongue of the mind;
They’ll ensure their efforts be proved:
That they speak for humankind.
Subroto Chatterjee
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-poets-and-about-them/
