Varnamala : Contemporary Oriya Poetry




I think  
I'd have a word or two with Father  

But what words could conspire  
between a son and father ?  

My father  
sees me every day  
I see him too  
Yet why doesn't a single word  
come to my lips,  
some word that would  
be just right for a father ?  

Suddenly confronted by him  
my mouth turns sticky and dry,  
my tongue rolls like a rope of straw,  
the breeze grips the tip of my navel.  

Father understands my problem  
He watches me, hidden somewhere  
He watches me while I am asleep  

I think  
I'll have a word with Father  
My father approaches from a distance  
I had never met him  
halfway in the street  
Father and I  
are travellers  

I think  
I'll have a word or two with Father :  
about this undiminished distance between us  
which we have kept up, unchanged  
through those many roads we have travelled long,  
the ache on the soles of our feet  
has long since blossomed  
into dust-smeared flowers,  
the road waiting expectantly for us  
day after day !  

Translation :
Jayanta Mahapatra  

Current Bgcolor :