Painting Their Poetry Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

Rumors reseed many tales
The reality is dynamically rare
Travelers talk of the love
They love it, in fact.
They don't conspire a bit
They heal the cracked cores.
I've found them loftier,
Gracefully laughing souls
Haven't ever seen them angry
They're this much rich
Lively in their very layers
Men of the lifelong letters,
And men of the everlasting love,
My Baba too is from them
A library available to the folks
They soothe the avid aesthetes
And are eternal edifice
to the rising rhythms
They write of racing hearts
Mourn over the gone guts
Never talk too much,
Their work is their continuum
River's rhymes reach them
The moonlight mends them
They're this ecstatic stars.
They're not just anybody,
They're the identity
Immense than stars,
Treading on the milkyways,
Meeting the melodious moon,
Men have shown me a lot,
They're the lyrical light,
I, the humblest follower,
I merely paint their poetry.