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ORIYA POETRY
PRASANNA KUMAR PATSANI
THE SEARCH
The wind brings news from some churned sea's deeps
Waves retell age-old tales,of time
That tore those golden sails of a merchant
Who set out to trade in his silver boat,
Of someone who plundered the sea's pearls,gems and rubies.The trees are desolate,the July-rains of tears
Flood the far reaches of the eye's palace;
Soon the king leaves for his queen's kingdom
The prince is away,his wooden sword
And toy-gun broken on his journey,
Under the shaky bridge he's found a live cannon.The wind brings news,buildings are deserted,
The selfish Queen Mother shakes off her tears
Someone has severed the wings of the Flying Horse--
The vast expanse of the silvery sky is soaked in blood,
Heaven's possessed dancer searches on for tunes.Someone's darling gazes on the face of the sea;
Her mirror of plenty broken,silver shards afloat,
A gash on her hand,the soul's largesse falls apart.In the shadows of casuarinas sand deer play,
Innumerable waves frolic on the shore;
The prince has still not returned,his head decapitated,
Has the tribal youth smeared on his forehead
The auspicious mark of blood?Are the city's scales weighing the jungle's flesh?
How long will the inhuman keep searching for Man?
Translation:
Jayanta Mahapatra
RABINDRANATH SINGH
INDICATION
When I gather together in my naked arms
the broken fragments of my life
the immense devil of darkness
mocks at me.And yet someone whispers
(Is it only the voice of the empty dark?):
For you no quiet moment
no rest, no sweet sleep.
The stubborn song of life invites
to arise and lift
the unvanquished sword.
Translation:
Sitakant Mahapatra
SAKUNTALA DEVI
AFTERTHOUGHT
You were perhaps hiding as a pearl
In the womb of the sea.
When I went to seek you out, counting the waves.
I found you lying on the breast of the skies.
You were a nameless star--
how could I know your identity?I asked the moon about you.
You were then perhaps drifting with the wind
Or maybe you were among the colourful flowers.
Unable to find your hiding place
I began to put questions
silently, to myself.I am sure, you were only smiling
from the mirror of my heart
Between the anxieties of gaining and losing.
Translation:
Brajakishore Das
SANAT DAS PATNAIK
THE ROOT
Germination means
the birth of a new tree
and again the death of an inert seed--
that is the only proof
on the birth-to-death, death-to-birth
explorations of man.What is the meaning of:
the long sideburns of the dear son, his
moustache of a tiger, the soft curly hair,
golden chain on his neck, pan-kit
on his shoulder, the narrow trousers
but the long loose grandfather-like
knee-touching shirts;
what is the meaning?--my death
and my rebirth in a son,
the rebirth of the lost generations!The statues of the lost generations
explode--the Kalki of destruction is timeless--
we do not like but we have to love it.
God, property, this age old household,
obedience to elders, amidst arguments
on virtue and vice
man has grown old!
Is old age a growing toy of the tree
that will break only to burn on towering flames ?
God may take away everything ,not
life--to breath carelessly.
Earth may dry up,
the root will wait to make life juicy.Rasikananda is glued to his seat
as if he has been metamorphosed into a root.
To disbelieve himself, this way,
is the nature of man or his old age,
who knows ?
Translation:
The Poet
A Varnamala Visualization