Thus Rushes The Rainstorm Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

What time is it; a lamp's still there on the desolate paths
Tears go wasted; yet the walkers tremble not
Ears attentive; eyes intense; and hearts hypnotized
Prejudice in all corners; yet fly the virgin pigeons
Subtlety in music and the atmosphere is frozen
Poetical layers lavish her, the uncorrupted eve breaks out
And the teacher teaches Neruda's ‘you start dying'
Stillness and inner peace dominates the class
Sandy-hills produce the touchy bulks of genius
Speaking ill is banned; banned is every thought
Road restrains students; Saarang speaks of serenity
Excitement in the air arises; signs of wonders
Flips of pages fascinate; the artist paints a kiss
Disciplines confine but the wayfarers stop not!
Entertainment or acquisition, a writer sighs there
Like a departed dream, she comes back out of nowhere;
A content in changing weathers; breathtaking is the falling sun
A reader drowns amidst; the mighty Indus hits the shores
Lost into innocence, the rhymester writes her ravages
Subtlety in streets and the silence celebrates the rhythm
Dim lights of the village… December …. The magical sand
Moonlight washes the vicious smiles, Master stoops down
Lovely, loftier and lavish, He winks at stars
Deep in his sensitive veins, flows the literary river
Anguish, anger, angst, animosity; he is fed up…! ! !
Lush green meadows or the beauty of oceanic waves
Or the lone desert; contemplation is made at Jamshoro
Is it a fixed one? Nope, it's many; the truth is versatile
Fluently float the Diyaas in the heart of Ganges;
Sambara's divinely dance maddens the classical poet
In the pursuit of inner elation, there dies Bhittai
But the ecstatic whispers still echo…Mysterious is that old stone
Despite being died, yet they sigh; their every part unveils eternity!