Once in Sundarbans
He looked at the fire that lit up his
face,
He was seasoned and brawny.
Deep in thought he sat and stared
At the orange, crimson licking flames.
The forest around him was dark and
silent
Only the red parakeet and the proud
peacock
Flutter and scream occasionally
Trees carry the echo through the dark
jungle.
The restless monkey is shaking the
mangrove
He is sending out warnings of some
kind
There is a speedy rustle in the nearby
shrub
And a yellow black pattern just scurries.
Patches of silver moonshine filter
Through the dark green leaves
The scurrying shadow is creeping low
And halts behind the old tree trunk
The glassy yellow eyes are fixed and
firm
the flaming fire is brighter than ever
the man is aware of the beastly
presence
he silently leers and clutches his
bludgeon
the beast is strong yet feeble
the wound in his paw is fresh and sour
he takes a last look at the fire and
the man
and decides to return to the thicket.
