(Translated by Ashraful Kabir)
Sometimes rains have called, sometimes
clouds, sometimes nymphean-Magh,
sometimes severed-Kartik.
Sometimes the pilgrimage ends with the sound
of the sleepy-Sanai,
Immeasurable self-conceit named Sandhya
rolls on the dry grass.
Then a strange smell of the twilight-lady.
His existence was doubted, solar-particles
were coated in his limbs without asking for anything.
The memory-house has been destroyed
for some reasons.
Turning yellow, another Mahogany-noon has
melted in the water of Meghna like red
corpuscles. Then one -
the golden point falls into the pit of dust in vain.
