Translated from the Bodo to the English by Pradip Acharya
Those days I picked the upturned snails

from among the stalks of growing grain

and filled my creel till the neck.

It was fun removing the shells

and watching their recoiling tongues

before I boiled them.

As I sucked the sap and threw the shells

they lay creaking on the floor

in a certain strange rhythm

that hid the agony of their dying.
Now I crawl around the sea-shores

clamber about on land and water

to look for the roots of that strange note

as the marauding waves

draw me back and fling me away.

Strangely, an unseen hand picks me up

sucks my sap and leaves me empty.

The shell of my body creaks

in the agony of the heart breaking

and makes the strange measure of a sad strain.