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.