All day I inevitably encounter a cat here and there In the shadow of trees or out in the sun, around the pile of fallen leaves; I catch sight of him, deeply engrossed like a bee, with his own self Embedded in the skeleton of white soil Having successfully spotted some bones of fishes somewhere; But still, nevertheless, he scratches at the trunk of the Krishnachura tree All day he moves about stalking the sun. Now he shows up here The next moment he is lost somewhere. I spot him in the autumn dusk playing around As if, with his white paws, he is patting the supple body of the saffron sun; Then he nets up the tiny balls of darkness with his paw And spreads them throughout the world.