I turn to my mother as a child in imagination,
Even today I run and die in that fairy tale.
Looking for the classroom of the past in imagination,
Living to old age is a big push.
Mother-in-law’s caressed golden childhood,
Kavu will come back no matter how much the nose burns.
black and white tv picture horse that antenna,
How much effort to get a good picture.
Imagination weaves webs in radio commentary,
I could see the games only by hearing.
I used to play with my sister in the afternoon.
Danguli and Khokho games that the mind would forget.
There is still a fence of the schoolhouse.
There is a teacher wearing a tie wearing a nikko dhoti.
Mother aunt has gone a long way,
Now only imagination is with me.
The radio is also there but only full of dust.
I don’t know if it’s bad to mess up the house.
There are black and white TVs, color TVs,
The mind is colorful and breathless.
The playground is empty and no one plays.
Everyone got family on mobile.
We were in that group think Rambali,
Spread on the skin and become new.
Cholbenako living only with emotions,
Imagination is only smeared with mud.
Stumbling along this difficult path of reality,
In a room full of falsehoods, I am locking the door.