Look into his eyes,
The hunter of all the visions,
Full of similes & metaphors,
and a tussock of questions.
The mirrors of his mind,
Weaving musings & philosophy,
With the strong threads of his imagination,
Which he stores in his mind,
The treasury.

His mind is where he holds,
All the lively sceneries,
Which his hands put down onto,
The rag of dignity.
With a vivid delineation,
He presents his visions,
To the uncultivated multitude,
To imbue in them good,
To raise their position,
And to convert from where they stand to stood.
His nifty fingers, I see,
moves....
Ready to conjure up inside the readers,
The imagination he weaves,
Emotions, and innumerable thoughts.

He is a person of a special beauty,
Who builds up in all, Perfect humanity.
One who will never retard from enjoying this world,
Who can it be, except a bard?
© Aarya kareepadath