Musing 175 Poem by shuvo chakraborty

What we hear in our sincere slumber
Is the obscure wafting of murmuring prayers,
Abode in vessels with scare to be dumped
In the swirling water being extraneous for blood refined.
Those are rafting through the hard rocks
With gift of friendly diluge of pleasing affairs
Can not predict the exact harbour for safe moorings
Under the inconsistent light at eventide.
The wanderers airing the shouting despeirs
For fragmenting the bonfire in dark surrounds.