'O Lord, I am Your goldsmith on this earth'
sang Sonar, Maharashtra's poet of old,
who hammered out the ingots of pure truth
to poetry, that turns speech into gold;

who sought Yourself within himself to reach,
from heart of gold, that golden mind might shine;
to sing Your praise; and find Your All in each;
reflect your Word; make human thought divine -

yet knew himself but shapeless gold You shaped;
shaped in this life, by grace, as goldsmith born;
graced with the richest substance You create,
to live and speak some gleam of You reborn.

May we be worthy of this golden race
of poets: praise in all things, Your one grace.




(Narahari Sonar - Sonar means goldsmith, which was the family profession - 13th century goldsmith, poet and saint)

Michael Shepherd

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0250-to-indian-poets/