Human life is a cold winter
Stays under a wrapper’s shelter,
Wants only cosy and comfort,
Luxury, rest, something other sort.
Covers under misery-grief full,
As if hides under blanket of wool.
Poverty is a pose of their mischieves
Just to get sympathetic perceives.
Under mistic fog staying vague obscure
It’s nothing but a hypocrisy really pure.
দারুণ সুন্দর 