Varnamala : Contemporary Oriya Poetry

 
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HARAPRASAD DAS
 

JESUS CHRIST


You are so faraway, 
and, yet,
I hear the footfalls of your breath 
on the wind's corridor. 

Remain faraway 
so that my soul 
that bought whole history with 
a few drops of blood 
may smile a little longer 
on the crucifix. 

In the end, of course, 
I shall raise my body 
on the podium of your unbelief. 

And you, Jesus, 
will be its keeper 
when a new shroud is spread 
on the indestructible coffin 
of History. 
  

Translation :
Ramakanta Rath 

MASK : MY FACE


What shall I do now? 
Shall water the day and 
watch it melting away or 
sleep inside the 
fruit of our shame its 
seeds hardening with fear? 

The first night followed by 
a million other nights I 
grow old the killer's amorphous 
quest sans quest locked 
in the barrel, motionless, waiting 
for the hours to dry and 
the roots to unlock 
the door on the mask 
into my plain face my 
secret harvest 
  

Translation :
The poet 

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