About a Rambler
He was roaming, rambler with no luggage,
Never quiescent, but work-less always.
He was loving, sparkling at all times;
But not devoted to what needed everyday;
In need of sheds he got amorous to shadows!
To finish he found light in some folded dimness
Who constantly feel ravenous in Bangladesh.
They were not ready wholeheartedly for a wise walker,
They were not that one at all, they were just starving
And suddenly had a vigorous and hearty vagrant in front
Who was away from all practitioner's competition.
More he was seduced, succumbed than loved so.
Approaching to perception, rather than consciousness
Again and again, sometimes in rage
He tried to root a new, necessary path; but
It was late, unsettled and uncommon,
In no time all his endeavor went worthless,
Because his last course was already certain in his blood,
Finally on an unkind old night
He went away with all his dream and destinations.
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