More powerful than the sun that set,
In the morning the moon that does sink-
A sheaf of papers, a bottle of ink!
Of the days that went past, of those yet to come,
Some truths are simple, some cumbersome.
But the un-flickering flame survives
Through the gale of turmoil, through the clear skies.

The sceptre and crown must tumble down
And dictators buried to the ground,
Yet the humble watchman is always awake-
When the sun is away and at daybreak.
The torch but never dies, for posterity will take rein,
And never shall it die- or never in vain.
-7\12\97,Calcutta-63