Often when wintry smog blankets my distance corn fields
in no time fumes of reminiscences come out of a familiar chimney.
One by one cranes in curve of my eye balls pass by.
The smell of Mahua flowers fills up my heart.
Then I am back to me with excess of it.
Often when the four walls of my existence entraps me in sombre,
Mahua again comes from inside an old book. .
At once Basabadutta gives a nubile blink.
The cloud sets out as the messenger of Yakshya.
and in idleness I think of an appointment with J M Keynes and Lenin.