(for Muni Auntie, Shohail Uncle and Bachchu Uncle)
At Arannyak, the whitest bungalow by the greenest lake,
I see every mind open up like petals of a flower
and the long-lost fragrance floods again our senses.
But we poor city-dwellers drone like machines;
it's once again we stand - plagued by doubts,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem