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ORIYA POETRY
RAMAKRUSHNA SAHU
BASTARD
I am born of the dark
of a wanton pleasure
where the faces of all
the hungry men look alike.The one in the guise
of a stigmaless light
pushing me from the dark
towards the blue carnival of death
is my mother,
I am her bastard son.Here
does anyone have
any definite address?
Tomorrow we will be driven out
of the inn of blood-and-flesh.
Then you and me are the same.
Here
does history have any worth at all?Here in this blind colony
the only difference is this:
you are the mirror of
a lake in a frame,
I am a flashline of lightning:
now I am,then nowhere.Yet called from behind
I turn back only to find
all the males and females
look alike:
blurred and weird,
all of them are my kin,
but I am no one's child.Nobody can tell truth from falsehood;
all of them slaves of hungry fire.
So nothing hurts me,
not even an unwary father
cohabiting his daughter.A bastard though,
I am a flawless sculpture
of the unalloyed man.May you call her a whore
but she is the one
who wets my dry lips
with the brushes of her nipples,
I call her:
Mother!
Translation:
Rabindra K Swain
ROHINIKANTA MUKHERJEE
ON THE MIRROR A NAKED CHILD
On the mirror, a naked child
in the mouth of a snake
on its belly;
no water,no mantra,no one around.
There in the garden
a fear keeps growing.
The shade of a faintly acquainted pomegranate
keeps on lenthening.
The naughty child
boxes the ear of the snake,
the shade goes still
on the boundary.
The naked child
in the mouth of a snake
on its belly
goes on blabbering:
this time I have been caught;
I will not play with you,once again.
No water,no mantra,no one around.
Translation:
Rabindra K Swain
A Varnamala Visualization