Once upon a time, when heaven opened its doors to its people of religion,
There was a long queue at the Pearly gates.
Men, women, and children stood in all their finery, to get in,
The clothes they were draped in at their farewell ceremony.
However, the poets in line moved a step behind,
Letting the children and women pass before them.
They knew the angels from among the crowd,
St. Peter called out, ” Any poet here?
I am sure the angels are waiting to welcome you.”
“And why is that St. Peter,” one chagrined spectator called out.
“Aren’t we all the same here. Isn’t everyone here waiting to see the King, the same?”
“Oh, no,” said St.Peter. “Not all of you have lived the life of a poet.”
But, the man was not enthused. His anger rose as he tried to calm his jittered nerves. He died as he lived, with lots of anger within.
“Well, I want to see the angels too, which is why I am here. The line is long, St. Peter,
can you perhaps let me in, before the poets, I mean?”
St. Peter who was holding his staff felt the man’s scowl reflect across his face.
“No,” his voice boomed. The heavens hushed, and the thunder clouds appeared.
“Who dares disturb the peace of St. Peter,” they mulled.
The man was silenced, and he tried to hide his chagrin and scowl.
When St. Peter saw that he was subdued, he said,
Poets walk like the angels on Earth,
They speak the language of love, beauty, faith, and willfulness,
They are the reason,
The epitome of inspiration.
Poets are born and gifted with heaven-inspired religion – shobana.