A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to

“A poet’s work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep.” Thus spoke Salman Rushdie, himself a man who bore the weight of his words as both gift and burden. In this declaration, the poet is not a passive dreamer, not a mere singer of pleasant verses. He is a warrior of language, a sentinel against silence, a fire-bringer who refuses to let the world sink into numbness. For words are not only for beauty; they are for battle. The poet’s work is to wrestle with truth until it speaks, and to awaken those who would rather remain blind.

To name the unnameable—this is the first duty. There are griefs too deep for ordinary speech, injustices so subtle they hide in shadows, joys so vast they overwhelm the heart. Yet the poet stretches his hand into the unspeakable and pulls forth words where none seemed possible. The Psalms of David named despair and hope alike, giving voice to cries that might otherwise have dissolved in silence. By naming, the poet preserves, transforms, and makes bearable that which would otherwise crush the spirit.

To point at frauds—this is the poet’s courage. Many kings and rulers have hated the poet for this reason: his tongue unmasks what crowns and courts would conceal. Think of Aristophanes, who in ancient Athens wrote comedies that revealed the folly of politicians and philosophers alike, his laughter sharper than any sword. Or think of Pablo Neruda, who raised his pen against oppression in Chile, declaring that poetry must live in the streets as much as in the libraries. Fraud cannot withstand the gaze of the poet, for his words are mirrors that cannot be bribed.

To take sides, start arguments, shape the world—this is the poet’s calling beyond comfort. Neutrality is for stones, not for souls. The poet must enter the arena, even at the cost of wounds. Recall how the verses of Percy Bysshe Shelley called for revolution, thundering that “poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” His words inspired generations who fought for liberty. The poet does not sit apart; he wades into history itself, stirring the waters until they surge.

To stop the world going to sleep—this may be the greatest task of all. For nations and men alike long for the ease of forgetting, the dull safety of slumber. Yet sleep allows injustice to harden, cruelty to deepen, truth to vanish. The poet is the bell that tolls at midnight, the flame that flares in darkness, the hand that shakes the sleeper awake. Rushdie himself, through both fiction and essay, became such a figure, his works stirring furious debate yet also keeping alive the sacred power of speech against tyranny.

The lesson for us is clear: each of us, in some measure, must live as a poet. Not all will write verses, but all can strive to name the unnameable in their own hearts, to call things by their true names. All can learn to point at frauds, refusing to bow before lies. All can choose to take sides when justice calls, to raise their voices rather than retreat into silence. To live poetically is to live awake, alert, and alive, unwilling to surrender the world to shadows.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, let this teaching be your guide: do not seek the comfort of sleep when truth demands your watchfulness. Learn to speak, even when your voice trembles. Learn to see, even when others close their eyes. And above all, learn to shape the world with your words and deeds, so that those who come after you may inherit not silence, but song. For this is the eternal charge: to be awake, to keep others awake, and to walk through the night as bearers of fire.