The words you once taught me,
Have now fallen completely silent.
Amidst the choked emotions and tears,
Even attachment starts to shatter and fade.
With time, the span of life increases,
Yet the heart can never truly grow up.
The single word—“Maa…”—fails to escape the lips,
And aches deeply within the chest.
Before a child’s hands even become capable,
God reclaims His own reflection.
Without colors, without a canvas,
An image must now be painted in the mind.
Though the evening lamp is lit at the courtyard shrine (Chaunra),
The place of the lamp that went out inside the house
Remains forever unfulfilled.
The broken sleep in the dreams of the night,
The heart stifled between silent hurts and grievances,
The lips unable to speak one’s inner thoughts to anyone,
And the hands counting the 365 days of your absence.
The lingering feelings of whether someone will visit or not—
One has to learn to control it all.
Someone or the other always offers consolation, saying,
“Whatever is destined to happen, happens.”
Yet, after reading everything, hearing everything, and understanding it all…
That single word, “Maa…”, still searches for a way to break free from within.
—————–
— Ratnamaya Tripathy
Adhyayana, Balangir
—————–
Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy
Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy
A Brief Reflection
This continuation digs even deeper into the raw, ongoing grief after a year of loss (“counting the 365 days”). It beautifully captures the universal truth that no matter how old we get, losing a mother makes us feel like a helpless child again. The imagery of the courtyard lamp (Chaunra) highlights how daily life and rituals continue on the outside, while the inner home remains permanently darkened by her absence.
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