Into The Jungle

The sun beats down on the broken traveler,
As he scurries around for scarce a shelter,
But where can he hide, out in the open,
Like the meaning hiding behind a coaxing pen.

Step by step, he goes, repeatedly tripping,
Twines of hope, and joy, tightly gripping,
Yet a few paces forward, inexplicably slipping,
Beads of perspiration have long been dripping.

Broken in the body, breaking in the mind,
With no one present, to push him from behind,
Lurking in the undergrowth are creatures of despair,
Fear of failure, they make for a deadly pair.

Persevering, he forces himself to trudge further,
Poor man, he knows not, the horizon is always farther,
All those miles gone by are just a headstart,
Into the jungle, called a “Woman’s Heart”.

- GUPTA GHOST