The last day of the year
rushes like a drunken dinosaur
...
Even in a crowd you suddenly become lonely
Or else put off the light
...
Light that buries light is called darkness
There is an inscrutable light
...
Can we think without language
The world is created by language
But every poem has two parts
One part is said the other unsaid
...
It is morning
May be the farmer goes to the field
...
The winter roads in Calcutta
The proud metropolis of Eastern India
...
Deep distress drowns the downs of the being
Shut up in sorrow the heart seeks to sing
...
Man is always looking forward to victory
He seeks to conquer his sorrows
...