To My Written Self! Poem by Aadil Hingorjo

Yes, you were to them like a raining cloud
They sought a partial rest under your light
They felt solace in your songs
You were book to their capacities
A roaring library to their sleeping brains
But before all, you were a rustic remnant
You were a countryside
And paradoxically an Urban zone at times
Precised prose flowed through your arteries
You were a royal heart to strugglers
Nameless, tagless, and distinctively distant
Attuned to human breathe was your spirit
You did enthuse wherever you went
You perhaps were a divine ray
To many, you were an ancient age
To the Nature, you were the cutest child
The Nature nourished you; you romanced her
Under the silent sky, you were a whole pacific
Pacifism dawned from you;
You were a peaceful voyage
To breeze, you were a poem
To the light, you were a drizzle
To the stars, you were a story
To the earth, you were her son
You meant more than your actuality
You were an intensifying aroma
You were a you; none could reach you
You, my written self, were art to today's trauma!