In Your Class Poem by Wasan H Ibrahim

To My Dearest Professor and Supervisor Amy Sequeira:

The tiny tinkling sounds
of dawn are gently breaking.
Slowly the misty morning lifts its veil
putting it aside,
Amid a scattering of leaves on the ground.
The Sun appears full of force
In your Face,
And you distribute on us your rays,
In gorgeous elegance and splendid grace.

In your class,
All poets around the world were sitting with us.
We were all listening attentively to your orchestral tunes,
To the Romantic, and epical voice of yours.
Numerous rays found their way into
Our hearts and minds.
We can feel every detail,
We sensed the 'Howling' of the wind in the trees,
Making our hearts beats and leaps.
In your class, we encouraged Prufrock
To eat the peach,
To ask his question,
And disturb the universe.
We struggled to survive in Eliot's 'Wasteland, '
Then, we confessed our mistakes,
Molding our Confessional debates.
Yawping with Whitman 'over the rooftops of the world, '
Then we lay on the grass, meditating,
Looking up at the sky,
Imagining shapes for the clouds,
And our minds were bathed in your beams,
And we were born…
'The bath of birth, the merge of small and large, and the outlet again'
Crossing the Ferry of Poetry with the crowds,
Hundreds of boats were 'Sailing to Byzantium, '
In a pilgrimage to your class.
You discarded the murkiness and placed the truth,
Upon our judgement, of right and wrong.
You turned the verse into a song,
An eternal Uni-verse,
A 'Grecian Urn, ' never broken,
and never cease glittering over the world.
Your words mean the world.

Yet; whatever we may do or say,
We could never come close to offering your worth.
In your class,
In our life,
You will be forever,
The one and only,
The glorious grace.