Dead-drunk man

I saw a dead-drunk man,
Lying on a sand bed,
Fully relaxed in a romantic mood,
Fumbling at the passer-by
To tell-
Ins and outs of his bygone days,
And all of his present face,
Looking at him,
I touched my bosom,
And felt my hidden pain
Somewhere out, on my hands,
And I found myself
An example to justify him,
But the world of mine;
I saw, wasn’t of him-
Of trap, betray and absurdity,
So I wished I could be him.