I experience what I am going through
is a  brief spell in my life’s routine course,
a period of small happenings—

Things are running  back
To this proximate mind,
aware of each  little thing.

I have been calling things
my native own—
steeped with my root nuances
As each small thing has a life.

I’m bound to the sluggish response to my experiences,
Near the bank of Dulong.
I am coming round to my life’s circle
To taste what is my daily own.

(Note: Dulong is the rivulet in Western Medinipur on the bank of which my forefathers settled)