IT'S A FESTIVAL GAMES
Sabyasachi Nazrul
The dew on the top of the grass from in the icy air,
In the daytime sky in the name campaign darkness at the end of twilight.
At the end of the night, the bee touches the white fog of morning
Swinging in the cold air is the dream hope of the mind.
In the glittering sun, the bee is in mothers love
The guest bird's will return hoping to return.
The murmur of direct leaves on the arrival of new leaves
Everyone got drunk on forest food and flowered in the forest.
In the house of a Bengali, there is a fair of juice cake with date molasses.
Thirteen festivals in twelve months,
Look at the festivals game.
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