From the wet edge of her saree (Panata), A stream of maternal love was dripping. Yet, to put food into the mouth of her ailing child, The nectar-stream of her breasts had completely run dry. The portion of the thatched roof That had blown away during the Kala Baisakhi (summer storm) Could not be repaired or put back together; The promised relief and assistance from the administration Has not reached her to this day. The man who had left with a middleman (Dalal) In search of better earnings never returned. And the thirteen-year-old daughter, Who was called away to the village chief's (Sarpanch) house On the pretext of being given a plastic tarpaulin sheet— Has not come back home since. From within the mud walls that were collapsing in the rain, The exposed wooden rafters looked utterly helpless. Carrying a heart that had already shattered in the prime of her youth, She was wrapping her wet clothes tightly to cover her body. She was reminded of the childhood nursery rhyme: "The clouds rain down, pitter-patter, The water-chestnuts have sprouted, In which distant kingdom does my king reside? Go, play the drums of his arrival..." Nothing felt comforting to her here anymore. Streams of tears were rolling down her eyes, While outside, a torrent of rain kept pouring down. Amidst the roar of thunder and flashes of lightning, Vanishng into the deep darkness of the night Was the helpless, desperate cry of a virgin girl Who had just stepped out to…

Because I could not tell anyone, The stories of my fantasy world (Kalpaloka), All my imagined sins and flaws Now make my mind spin in contemplation. Under the spell of a sorcerer's magic and bodily illusions, Wandering through the beautiful, dense forest, Struck by the bow of the desired, beautiful woman, I burn away in the fires of passion. Blending infamy, bad logic, and ugly words Into the sweet fragrance of the white jasmine (Kunda) flower, You, the night-lotus (Kumudini) of the moonlit pond, Acted as a skillful enchantress. In the auspicious morning dew, You are the bud of the white water-lily (Kalhara). O flowing river (Kallolini), along the course of your surging waves, You came and brought me glorious fame. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir —————–Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy This specific poem by Ratnamaya Tripathy is a brilliant stylistic showcase of "Ka-Anuprasa" (Alliteration of the letter 'K' / କ-ଅନୁପ୍ରାସ). In traditional Odia poetry (like Upendra Bhanja's Baidehisa Bilasa), writing verses where every single word begins with the same letter is a highly revered classical feat. Want to read this poem in Odia ? Click Here Want to read this poem in Hindi ? Click Here

On a lazy morning, the unruly wind Makes the mind drift away in abstraction. Promises of arrival made at unearthly hours Only leave the heart restless. The entire courtyard is heavy with regrets here; If you must come, what hope will you bring? Why come for no reason at all, Only to be subjected to blame and reproach? Look…… My entire body is covered With the scars of bitter stings. Cruel destiny keeps walking away After inflicting endless pain. Even a distant bird, coming from afar, Does not lose its way here. Look at my plight during the day— A miserable, incomprehensible state. In the month of Phalguna, you had promised to play with colors, And build a palace of seven-colored dreams. But a house cannot be built on the palm of mere promises; To build a home of love, It is essential for hands to join with hands. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir —————–Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy Want to read this poem in Odia ? Click Here Want to read this poem in Hindi ? Click Here

A darkness so deep That even one's own shadow cannot be seen, Now feels incredibly comforting. Dreams come, Indifferent to whether it is The new moon or the full moon night. On the roof, the pigeons While pecking at broken grains of rice, Etch a faint, hazy picture. Sometimes, that image appears clear, Sometimes, it comes alive and terrifies. It places a condition of absolute silence Upon all hidden, dark secrets. The promises that departed saying, "Look... I am coming back right away," Never return. Those who do return, Get lost along the chaotic paths of daily chores And completely forget. While bidding farewell to spring from the cycle of seasons, She had asked for a handful of Abir (colored powder). Because I failed to give it to her, The month of Phalguna remains upset to this day. Just now, The feet that were turned back From the upper step to the lower step, Ask— Whose picture is that...? What is the secret behind it...? The feet that were advancing forward, Gradually begin to retreat. The silent, answerless lips Along with the helpless body, And its innocent shadow, Slowly dissolve and vanish into the darkness. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir —————–Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy Want to read this poem in Odia ? Click Here Want to read this poem in Hindi ? Click Here

I am thinking this time, I will give freedom to those few words That are aching within the bondage of silence. I will release some memories and experiences From their cage and show them the way out. The long-held anticipation within me— I will no longer shape it into poetry. The love treasured deep inside my heart, I will scatter and distribute it on the streets. Knowing the familiar faces very well, I will purposely treat them as strangers. All the numbers saved on my phone, I will delete them now. I do not wish to give any reply To the challenge you have thrown. You know very well whether I win or not— I will never let you lose. Under the curse of your hurt, silent pride (Abhimana), I have now become a stone at the bathing ghat. If you wish, you may wash your feet upon it, Or you may take it to carve the God of your heart. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir —————–Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy Want to read this poem in Odia ? Click Here Want to read this poem in Hindi ? Click Here

Look, in your long period of silence…… See how much commotion fills the entire city. The decision that I had taken, The steps that I had advanced— Were they wrong or were they right? Where is the time to sit and judge……? In this city, it takes no time for rumors to spread, And it takes no time at all to suffocate a voice. Yet, I stand absolutely unyielding In the decision I have made. I have no regrets over your rejection; My only sorrow is this— That I made a grave mistake In recognizing the true nature of a heart. The earth must be drenched by now, The forests and orchards must be soaked In the very first rain of the month of Asadha. But within the garden of my heart, A desolate monsoon of Shravana rages on, Drenching me now solely In the pouring clouds of memories. The one for whom you are lighting The evening lamp right now— Look…… It is not for the sake of the light, my dear; Losing its direction, a soul destroys itself In the desperate hope of finding a life. Someone once said That silence is a sign of consent. Because of your long period of silence, Today, I am the one who stands defamed Across the entire city. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy Want to read this poem in Odia ? Click Here Want to read this poem in Hindi ? Click…

Know this—against the hand you have raised at me, I cannot raise a hand of curses in return. Now that you have raised your hand, Perhaps you are forgetting that Your hand, its veins, and even the very blood flowing through them Belong to me. Nurtured under the shelter of my hands, Through the tender touch of my palms, and in exchange for my blistered joints— Your hands and your entire body were shaped. Patatting whose back and receiving whose support Are you showing such audacity, my dear (Dhana)? Perhaps you do not know— Here, to apply healing ointment on a wound of the right hand, Even the left hand refuses out of sheer contempt. The hand that was once only worthy of touching my feet for blessings— Do not attempt to rule or dominate with that very hand. Once my breath leaves this body, Even your hands will not find the strength To carry my corpse on your shoulders. Just like water that has flowed away, or words that have been spoken, A hand once raised in anger can never be taken back. You might manage to erase the scars upon your skin, But how will you ever heal The deep wounds inflicted inside the chest? Because you have never witnessed the shattering of a mountain, You have set out to pierce through rocks with your soft, delicate hands. Try breaking a hard stone floor just once, And you will realize how badly you need a strong, seasoned hand.…

Even amidst your thousand denials, I have sensed a hundred thousand words of consent. Even through a mere blink of the eyes, it can be understood; Even from silent lips, the language of the heart Can be easily discerned. To speak the mind's inner truth, one does not need An isolated, lonely world. Even within a crowded space, one can experience A fresh, new definition of love. To comfort the heart, there is no need For the southern spring breeze, a beautiful orchard, A rainbow in the sky, a chilly wind, The flowing stream, or a bountiful abundance of flowers. Even amidst a chaotic clamor, love can be understood— All it takes to recognize a heart is a heart itself. By the chains of whose authority Are your feet bound within a restricted boundary (Lakshman Rekha)? Under whose strict and watchful discipline Are your eyes filled with a torrential downpour of July rains (Shravana)? Upon whose courtyard altar (Chaura) are you compelled To light the evening lamp? Here, a pair of eyes has been searching for ages For your footprints in the courtyard and The playful restlessness of your gaze. Some say the rain arrives Bringing with it the seasonal cycle of union. Yet here, burning in the agonizing fires of separation, Stands a lush green forest, Desperately searching for the touch of your soft hands— And the soothing coolness of love. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy Want to…

Someone had told me To keep the window open all through the night. Whether it was a request or a command— Without understanding, I left the window wide open. During the first watch of the night, came the fragrance of jasmine; During the second watch, the bright, spotless moon. During the third watch, the voice of some unknown bird, And during the fourth watch, an unseasonal rain arrived— Drenching the window railings Along with the calendar on the table, The poetry diary, and the flower vase. Yet, the window remained completely open. In the morning, I asked, "Why did you tell me to keep the window open Last night...?" Smiling softly, she replied, "You silly (Buddhu)... You couldn't sleep last night, could you? You spent the entire night thinking only of me. That is exactly why I had told you To keep the window open..." — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by : Dr. Khyatimaya Tripathy Want to read this poem in Odia ? Click Here Want to read this poem in Hindi ? Click Here

In her rain-drenched body, She was burning with a 104-degree fever, And in her schoolbag lay the silent omen That her education was about to come to an end. No one bothered to understand Why she came back home completely soaked. In that rain that had poured down So suddenly... How could she have found A single safe place Where she could shield herself and her schoolbag? The school veranda after closing hours, The roadside canteen, The betel shop, Ravi’s automobile garage, Or even the government waiting-hall With "Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao" (Save daughters, educate daughters) painted on its wall— None of them offered a truly safe roof for a young girl. How could she have stopped and waited there? She had seen the predatory eyes, Ranging from ages fifteen to seventy-five, Reaching and piercing right through her school uniform. From hands that took perverted pleasure in groping her Under the guise of giving blessings— How could she have begged for shelter? She had overheard the crude, half-whispered, And jarringly abusive words coming from the nearby tea stall. In an effort to keep her schoolbag dry, How could she allow her heart and soul to be utterly drenched in filth? Her friend once told her That if one learns to hide the truths of their heart, One can easily hide under anyone’s roof when it rains. But because she could not hide the truth of what she faced, Along with her schoolbag, a restrictive string Was tied to her legs…