Musing 131 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

Who walks between the fires
Is often mangled by the compulsions heavy
Brewing strong in the daily maneuvers
With fear of being flashed out for reasons awkward.
Compelling soul therefore stoop low
Like the bear moving sloth with eyes downward
And concious not what after the fires terrible
If invincible not enough to bounce back the ire
Of mid summer afternoon yawning the drought acute
Of river slimmer by pouring continuous of sensual scourges.