Apropos 6 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

The city is at dead end with roads being clogged with slew of automobiles
And the pedestrians, looking like mammoth liege of ants be line as if
Without an end or soldiers thousands marching on war footing with heads countless.
People are all around leaving not alleys or open space and the cab riders and bikers
With running blood through the arteries or veins, young, old and infant blood
On the roads with some purposes or loitering being useless or for bare survival.
Most are workers carrying the iron beams of civilization in different forms, in different colors.
Swing of them from one turning to another or at crossings, beginning of another destination,
Multitudinous sounds rising like sea foams endorsing the burgeoning of the city,
Gobbling like flooding river country sides and cultivations to nestle the flocking gamblers
Of destiny; some float, some drown and some swell with wealth, rendering
Hues of luck like the pack of cards ill distributed among the gamblers by some goddess
Commanding all the valuables in the earth with different names but with similar game.
Gaming souls mostly living by names distant from graves or crematorium on hopes cauldron,
Weaving the thin curtain of happiness drapping the nuances of pains, concealing ill doings
In quest of deceptive gems and golden rocks; forever trekkers, lonely even among billions,
Rising head like wild snake sneaking out from short bushes in destinies wilderness among the
High hill forests; trying to overcome the stiff height with eyes greedy and perspiring
Slim stature, voices lost and grim fatigue running over the dreaming face assuming the
Each floor of skyscapper as saddle for better life; fairies riding the lifts being ornate
And colored spare a moment glimpse to that farer and wonder how such shabby stuff
Dwells in costumed expanse! Perfumes tread the moral bounds and lashes the corridors,
The poor soul guess them the odor from heaven, gardens of roses, lavenders and flowers
Others which are sold in street corners with much lesser prices than these artificial deluges
But scenting much better than the street flower much like flowers in Eden and this
Dream merchant mercandize his labor to someone in day and in night at teeming bed
To multipile the new gamblers infant not visited by Magi with gifts plenty nor being courted
By fabled friendly star but by another common dawn with howling surrounds bequeathing laboring heritage.