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ORIYA POETRY
SUNIL KUMAR PRUSTI
THE STORY OF
A LOWER MIDDLE CLASS FAMILY IN ORISSA
1.
Not an inch of the earth belongs to anybody
We live in a rented house,
have two square meals per day.Want is sacred like an everyday prayer
of all the family members;
mother worships the god most.The god is a calendar
or an incomplete wooden toy.
Be He of earth or stone,
my sister smears him with sindoor.Feigning to be angry with her, father says:
soon I am getting you married off
Yet she builds her sand castles.All these things sound philosophical to me.
God is a petty tout,
life a semblance to a sand castle.I make an oratory, sharp like an arrow,
of hunger, dream and unemployment.
Although I am an intellectual
my friends dub me mad.2.
Father's job and preachings
are morning and evening.
Younger brothers are storms, cut off.
How much of dowry for sister's marriage?
Will you have balloons, balloons,
red like childhood?
Will you tuck flowers?
lock of your hairs in the dark night.
Who will lie on the bier?Come, children, sit on my shoulder,
I will take you to the land of moon.
When you are thirsty
I will give you the water of my eyes.
When it's night
you will sleep with my lullabies.I had seen the map of Orissa
in my school geography book.
How good is my land!
Can I ever forget it?The family tears
are like the breaking of the secret rains.
Tell me, who will accompany me
to my house for a day or two.
Don't tell me
that you don't like this story of mine.
Translation:
Rabindra K Swain
A Varnamala Visualization