And of yore,
Centuries old,
Built ago,
If the spade clinks over
And the digger stumbles over
And gifts it to
A thing of historiography and museumlogy,
How to view it,
Hold into the hands of mine?
O, a statue of gold, pure gold,
Looking blackly
Or coated so,
But of pure gold,
Weighing to crores
In current valuation,
Suppose that find you
A statue historical, museumlogical,
How to hold it
Into the hands of mine,
A golden, but blackly statue,
But coated black?
May be it remained unearthed
Into the debris of the fallen temples,
The fallen terracotta temples,
The mouldering heap of it
And now arising it
When the foundation is dug
for new constructions,
O, the legacy of an old historical city,
That of Chandrakona Town and its temples
Built centuries ago
From clay lime and small-small bricks!