© 2006, Bharat Majhi From: Mahanagara Padya
Publisher: Pratchi Prakasani, Bhubaneswar, 2006
I will rise this time for sure.
Those of you
who were vigilant so long,
could you ever call a tree a tree,
a river a river, a flower a flower,
a bird a bird, get wet in the rain and dew,
stand at some unfamiliar crossroad,
play with the sand,
spin a top, fly a kite?
You never opened your doors.
Instead you kept hanging
oil paintings on your walls,
reassuring yourselves
that this is morning, that is evening,
this is rain, that is winter,
this is a flower, that is a sapling of paddy,
this is a deer.
You kept chanting that
till it reached a crescendo.
In the process
the flesh fell off the limbs,
the body turned to bone
but the chanting about your wealth continued.
Mind you,
when I slept I did not really sleep.
I only dreamed for a while.
In the dream
I was some scrap-dealer's scales,
weighing only
oil paintings with broken frames. © Translation: 2009, Rabindra K Swain
"Bharat Majhi (born 1972) is recognised as a voice of growing promise and resonance in the world of Oriya poetry. Born in Ghumerguda in Kalahandi in the state of Orissa, he now lives in Bhubaneswar where he works as a journalist. He has published six collections of poetry in the past decade, his third collection (Mahanagara Padya) winning him the Bhubaneswar Book Fair Award in 2008. He also won the Sanskriti Award in 2004."
Internet source: http://india.poetryinternationalweb.org/
Poetry by Editorial Team
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Written on 2009-08-08 at 17:27
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Publisher: Pratchi Prakasani, Bhubaneswar, 2006
I Will Rise This Time for Sure
I will rise this time for sure.
Those of you
who were vigilant so long,
could you ever call a tree a tree,
a river a river, a flower a flower,
a bird a bird, get wet in the rain and dew,
stand at some unfamiliar crossroad,
play with the sand,
spin a top, fly a kite?
You never opened your doors.
Instead you kept hanging
oil paintings on your walls,
reassuring yourselves
that this is morning, that is evening,
this is rain, that is winter,
this is a flower, that is a sapling of paddy,
this is a deer.
You kept chanting that
till it reached a crescendo.
In the process
the flesh fell off the limbs,
the body turned to bone
but the chanting about your wealth continued.
Mind you,
when I slept I did not really sleep.
I only dreamed for a while.
In the dream
I was some scrap-dealer's scales,
weighing only
oil paintings with broken frames. © Translation: 2009, Rabindra K Swain
"Bharat Majhi (born 1972) is recognised as a voice of growing promise and resonance in the world of Oriya poetry. Born in Ghumerguda in Kalahandi in the state of Orissa, he now lives in Bhubaneswar where he works as a journalist. He has published six collections of poetry in the past decade, his third collection (Mahanagara Padya) winning him the Bhubaneswar Book Fair Award in 2008. He also won the Sanskriti Award in 2004."
Internet source: http://india.poetryinternationalweb.org/
Poetry by Editorial Team
Read 650 times
Written on 2009-08-08 at 17:27
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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