Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

My Great Grand Uncle by Tarapada Ray

My great grand uncle had a peculiar hobby.
He used to collect the feathers	
    of different kinds of birds
    of different colours, from different places.
His bedroom, corridor and staircase
Were full of thousands of colourful, colourless feathers.

On the day of his death
Just before sunrise, at dawn, 
My great grand uncle	
    went to the rooftop of his house
And threw the feathers into the morning air.
The feathers floated in the golden rays
            of the rising sun.
Some of the feathers dropped near.
Some went far.
Some floated towards eternity, the sky.

No, it is not possible to write a story	
            on this subject
But some feathers are still floating	
in the sky.

translated by the poet
~ from This Same Sky, A Collection of Poems from around the World,
Selected by Naomi Shihab Nye (Aladdin Paperbacks, 1992)

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