ORIYA POETRY

 
SENAPATI PRADYUMNA KESHARI
 
 

THE BIRD
 

The prettiest of all birds
has been nesting here
for long.
It doesn't come out.
Yet it can see the world.
It doesn't fly.
Yet it can travel all over the universe.
They say
none can snare,
no noose can catch it.

Since I've lost the words
of petting the bird,
the wind cannot enter my house
despite all these
doors and windows.

Now the bird
seems to understand,obey.
And then
it hesitates.

This depressed bird,
they say,
has forgotten its songs.
All the fragrant joy
that glittered in its eyes
when it arrived here,
is all gone.

Now in its nest
the bird is quiet.
Utterly silent it watches
the comings and goings
of the sun and the moon,
the rule of seasons,
the withering of buds on stems,
the rotting of corpses
in the field.

Its sulking is like
the soft rain of ashadha;
and its eyes
as bright as stars.
When it sings,
eternity listens to it,
like a child.

The prettiest of all,
this bird now
is quiet.
What pain is it
drunk with ?
 
 

Translation:
Soubhagya Kumar Misra
 

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A Varnamala Visualization