They're The Monsoon Full Of Melodies Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

Don't be hostile to these inches, they're songs
Doing away with mist, they're musical melodies
If it's the dark tunnel, they are the rays of light
Embodying the lamps, they create the way
Words which carry unique slogans
These students are incessant flows
They ring from all the roots; they're roots
Foundations brimmed with boldness
Slogans full of love, full of revolution
Yeah, a little twisted but essentially marvelous
They walk through dust, they pass by the dirt
Their destination is still ahead
They are committed to deathlessness
They are beyond partial ponds
They're headed to oceans
If anyone can see, they're able to foresee
They're in love with Azaadi.
Don't confuse them, if you're confused
Don't spit over their charm, if you're unecstatic
They're the prerequisite for today's prose
They're reviving pieces
They are pearly parts
They're proud portions
Ordinary boys, ordinary girls
All equally out for extraordinary expression
Breaking the chains, they're manifestos
Tiny yet alert enough to defy the droughts
They live outside; they burn inside
They have stood against the rock
The rocks which is been firmly rooted
But they too aren't commonplace persons
They're students!
They aren't elites!
They're not political pranksters
They're aren't military scums!
They're innocents!
Oratory undefeatable, and witty wishes
Evolutionary anthems; revolutionary rhymes
Non-conformist to the cruel codes
An encounter to the false frontiers
They're ready to reject the licensed layers
To save their hope, they're on their track
They can't be broken; they're intense echoes
Their throats can't be choked
Liberty is their Haqq! They're so divine
They're fires; they're flames
They're minarets of freedom
They're the holy lanes
They're the voice from the gone times
They're the beings internally wild
Unafraid of wanderings
Unknown to fearful flees
They're the beauty seemingly united
To preserve the poems
To secure the sighs
To heal the wounds
To mediate the impulse
To integrate the ashes
They are stepping to stairs
Stairs that lead to art
Stairs that open to stars
They will wait under the scorching sun
They will wait under the skyless land
They will never leave the cradle.
Ah, they're the symphonies rising from Sindhu
They're the crying drops of Kabul river
They're breathes branched out from Bolan
They're the rhythms of the Ravi river
They're all up from Skardu's insights
They're the Kashmiri queues
Want to balance; want to brighten up
Passionate enough to achieve infinity
Sitting to the hutless peasants,
Conversant to indigenous activists,
They're the beloveds; they're the lovers
They, the readers; they're addicted
Addicted to pragmatic infernos
Accustomed to free wine; close to poison
They're modest drunkards, Indus embraces 'em
Dying for equal empowerment
Opposing any militia, any military
Dancing to the streamy depths
They're the cracks unforgettable
Don't shun them off
Don't ask much from them
They're already much-spirited
Don't blame them
Come, enjoin; walk a little with them
Only then you could have a word
You yourselves are the world
Consider them as your worldmates
You know it all, they've just started it
Let them plough; let them own their life
Let them lavish their land
Let them be open to their mounts
Let them be attuned to their oceans
They are the blood boosters
They remind you of your lost assets
They are up to kill down the margins
They are ahead to tie the truth
And they don't seem tired;
They're the touches slightly tearful
They're the terms not to be torn
Yet they are not to surrender ever
They're not the narratives quite naive
They're rather the discourses full of dawn
They're flowers; they're forests
They're the deserts, and they the dunes
Don't alienate them; speak unto their soul
Respond to their resonance, redo the line
Mirrored to you, these students are murmurs
Fill it up, and cover the way even if it's halfway
They're the Latifian rain; a happening unlimited
Undoing the petty papers, they yearn for peace
Epitomizing faith, they're truly the red cells
They are like monsoon for the parched regions
A daring daylight, and unflinching footsteps
Every time to you, they're your favourite verse
They are a lot from you; they're in fact you.