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ORIYA POETRY
PRAMOD KUMAR MOHANTY
MEMORY
The bird sings in false notes.
No fish in the river, no star in the sky.
No dawn breaks
No hope, no curse,
Nothing.
No letter,
Not even the barest sign of an address.
Everywhere scattered ink-drops
Like wrong acts of life.
The bird sings in false notes.No more through eyes
Memory now seeks other avenues.
Where the black pigeon flaps its wings
The deceptive moon betrays the morning,
Where the wide steps of the wind
Disturb the waters of the river.
Which Midas touch
Turns memory into tears?Memory is the squarefoot of time
And the capital is a city of tears.
Memory is regular like time
And each clock has a punishing look.The ticking clock
Love's eternal enemy,the graveyard of memory.
Memory: the squarefoot of time
And the city only a city of tears.Everywhere
Drops of void absence
Like the empty girls' commonroom in summer vacation.Alas, the bird sings false notes,false notes.
Translation:
Jayanta K. Biswal
PRASANNA KUMAR MISHRA
THE GHOST OF THE UNBORN
All your breasts
overflow with milk.
Overbrimmed pitchers,spilling water,
Mothers! You'll pass this way!
On this path,from the river.
Dripping milk,you'll pass by,
drop by drop...Mother died
unable to give birth to me,
I died without being born.Same womb,same flower,same pain,
and the accumulated milk meant for me,dying;
now in this tree like an unseen bird
I perch, oh mother!Like you,too my mother
used to fetch water from the river,
I could have been born from your womb too,
I too could have been cradled in your arms,
I too could have reached for the milk in your breasts,
and I too could have been the star of your eye.But I have no lips,
and thirst cries on only for milk.This way you will always pass by,oh mothers,
I could have been your child too.
Translation:
Jayanta Mahapatra
A Varnamala Visualization