Age Becomes Art Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

Evening comes to accompany the Margalla,
I'm far; forlornly gone into valleys of Kolachi…
Scarcely wounded soul plays unsaid music
And winds dare not to wipe my stormy eyes
I feel piercing wine pervading in every view
As if she has poured her light in every view
Sadism and solitude in the cages;
Many a pure virgins wander here unstably
Yet the heart dies for that Indusian eternity
Bless me Oh love, fall on me today
Like the most awaited rain over Thar
Her strings mesmerize me to the pulses
As if Picasso is sweetly perfecting the painting
Her innocent smile loots me; brutally attacked I am
Quite moving like a dancing wave
She makes me sit along the Indus edges
Hills do not historicize; the mighty ocean does
It unstoppably shudders me all at once
Deepest dimensions drive me to inmost distances
Each moment is carrying a century; days so deep
Empty styles, empty attires, and empty inland
Everything is tired here; her memory supersedes
I'm being awakened; the objects are getting reborn
The song that I never felt inside is rising to the shores
This is not me; nor my poetry
It's her seeds; her roses and her grains
Earth is too much with me, Smiles the endless sky
All arms are opened; so honest are the hosts
Monsoon of silent rains, earthquakes loosen their power
Her poetic eyes; my journey is not to stop
Romance reciprocates thru wintery windows
In this Hostel, right there before NUML Library
Here she marks her prints, her footprints
Elation embraces me; I'm buried in books
Many a mists disappear; a tear of joy
Fingers travelling in hair; so natural is her touch
Such are the pebbled paths of passion
Wayfarers weep, sighs the whole majestic humanity!