Easterine Kire
When you let me love you
I feel powerful
life-giving
like the sun and the air
like the rain that falls
over a new seed
When you let me love you
I stand back and proudly watch
you sprout and stretch
fresh limb branches into the sky.
Easterine Kire
The people that I love
keep falling off their pedestals
and can't seem to
get back up again
but that's alright
that's quite alright now
This way
every fall
makes me love them as they are
warts and all
no magic to them
pumpkin people
at the stroke of midnight
arthritic and 50
and so, so vincible.
Manas Ranjan Mahapatra
Silence hurts, let us start talking
Dear Kapil, when will you come back home?
The neighbours may be waiting for your return
And, you have been roaming in the market since long
Tell us, what is today's rate of onions?
Your path of return is full of darkness
Will you tell us, what you saw in the market?
Plunder at one place and Baba's blessed powders
at the other
and at places there is chant for the God
Well done, you saw everything and did not utter
a single word
those who raised their voice yesterday
Have been banished today from the State
and thieves move in the disguise of the police.
I wanted to go back to the village
But don't you know,
your village have been eaten away by the
smart city
see around, you will find slums, labourers, masters
and how shoes fit into the paws of leaders
What you saw in the lit fest that you went Kapil!
Votes decide fate of creations
and currencies demark the boundaries of poetry
Waste land of Almighty's dear chairs
Silence hurts
and it pains to walk in an unknown route
how useless are words in the merchant's world
Blind King in the Blind Kingdom
and donkeys enjoy their time
Why are you then moving
throughout the hot afternoon, Kapil,
in so much sun and rain?
It's abnormally late now, dear
Let's go back home.
Translated from Odia by the Poet
Parthajit Borah
I move after the second
I hop after the minutes,
I swing after the hours
when the verse forms
in the pages of my bosom.
Years are the uninvited alarm of life.
which reminds my past
in a foggy spring night.
You borrowed my evening as I
lost the spirit of life.
Tiring mind for chasing the clouds of emotion I become the washer
of your grief clothes.
washing with the detergent of warm tears.
I gradually lose your green smile
in the annals of time.
Fallen ring of your finger sparks me.
Now, I am dying by your bright eyes
in the annals of time.