The hours spent in waiting Did not rot, wither, and go to waste. The number of candles Upon the birthday table Did not increase on their own accord. The bumblebee did not lose its way intentionally, Nor did the flowers in the garden change With the turning cycle of seasons. These poems would never have overflowed like this Into the pages of the diary; The fugitive, runaway words Would never have submitted or obeyed. The deadly venom would never have transformed Into sweet nectar. Never had the bud of a rose withered away In the intoxicating fragrance of night-flowering jasmine (Gangasiuli). Even after the distant birds flew back, The nest did not fall into disarray. Abhimanyu, too, returned From the depths of the Chakravyuh. Yayati, detaching himself from desires by his own will, Returned the borrowed youth. Even when rivers lost their way And failed to merge into the sea, The ocean's loving waves never diminished. Even after the footprints on the quicksand Were completely erased, The path remained visible. Look, only because you had said so, Even spring has not deserted the courtyard. If promises are forgotten, Who here is truly known, and who is a stranger? — 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 will no longer give you the seven colors of the rainbow, I have saved only the color of love for you now. Upon this withered body that had shed all its leaves, Fresh green foliage has sprouted once again. Look!!! See how I am evergreen now. The bumblebee that had lost its way for many days, I have called it back into the garden. At your slightest gesture, it will wander From this flower to that flower. To welcome you, I have kept A thornless rose. I have perfumed the courtyard with the scent of jasmine, And amidst the thick canopy of the mango tree that has just blossomed, I have told the cuckoo to sing a song of welcome for you. The Krishnachuda (Gulmohar) trees will look Even more vibrant this time. When you come this time, I will absolutely never say that I am too busy. I will write poetry just for you. If you so wish, I will bring love songs From the enchanted poet of romance And sing them to you, staying awake all night long. The morning will break only after you wake up, And the night will fall the moment you go to sleep. Whatever you desire shall happen, I will accept everything with a bowed head. I have drenched you in the Phagu (Holi) colors of spring many times, But this time, I will drench you purely in the color of love. Winter has departed, and spring has arrived now; May our…

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

Just now, into the five elements, A body dissolved and merged. Along with that body, burned away All the sorrows of her life, Her grievances and silent hurts (Abhimana), And the stories of the Puranas she had gathered. That joyful smile visible from a distance, And the hand of affection over my head—all are gone. The sweet cry of "Mausi" (Aunt) Has been lost from the lips forever. To recall a passage from the scriptures, I can no longer make a loving demand of her. If I pass by the road near her house And alter my path to avoid her, There is no one left to scold me anymore. Above and beyond all earthly honors, Where shall I find a place worthy of you, Mausi...? In the lamp I have lit for you, I will pour my deepest offerings of reverence and respect. — 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 a river that is slowly drying up, Becoming a tributary And wishing to keep it forever flowing; To a loosening, weakening grip of the hand, Extending their own hand To make that hold even stronger; Covering up every falsehood, And providing the immense courage To look the absolute truth in the eye; Piercing through the hard rocky floor to rise above, Becoming both the anchoring root and the nourishing fertilizer... All such noble souls... are indeed true friends. — 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 had never seen a garden quite like this, Never had I seen so many flowers and bumblebees. Youth hiding behind the trees, Old age resting on the cement platforms, The future playing on the grass carpets, And on the walking trail— Time engaged in an effort to heal a few weary, unkempt bodies. The water from the fountain Was sculpting rainbows in the morning sun. The dewdrops on the grass created the illusion of pearls, But the flowers blooming upon the benches Were no illusion; they felt beautifully alive and fresh. Leaving behind all the exhaustion of the night Tucked inside her blanket, She was gathering the morning warmth into her winter clothes. The color on her lips had not yet faded, The kohl had not yet left her eyes. Adjusting her slipping veil with care, She was resetting her anklets. Her footsteps slowed down, Her eyes filled with a shy grace. Just as she straightened her sweat-drenched body, Tired from walking and walking… The whistle of the pressure cooker broke the dream. From the kitchen, a voice called out: "Aren't you going for your walk today? It's already getting late..." — 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

From the innocent faces of hundreds of displaced people, Whom do I ask to recount The tragic tale of being waterlogged? Who will tell, and how, the way it submerged— The village temple, the cremation ground, the schoolhouse, The mango orchard where we played Dahimankidi (monkey-branch game) in childhood, The shrine of the village goddess, receiving offerings since our ancestors' time, The drumstick backyard garden won during the brothers' partition, And the Bhagabata Tungi (village religious community hall) where we daily prayed, "Save me, O Lord, I am but a mere mortal"—how it all drowned? How did it feel deep inside the chest When the village banyan tree was being chopped down? The very tree where, after tying sacred threads for sixteen Tuesdays, The eldest daughter had left for her groom's house. When the bulldozer rolled over the temple steps Where, after four daughters, a mother had crawled bare-bodied daily Praying for a son—how did that strike the liver? The experience of the first rain, getting drenched with a lover in Mahuljhar, is now just a memory, For all those Mahua trees are now imprisoned under water. Since reaching the age of understanding, we kept hearing: A wide road will come to this village, Canal water will yield double crops, The fields will smile, the farmer will smile, No one will ever have to migrate for labor (Dadan) again, No one will toil at the brick kilns, No one will endure the bloodshot eyes of the labor contractor (Sardar). Now,…

I became confined within myself, The birds that left their nests have now returned. A little chick looked straight at the morning sun, The distant mountain drew closer, And the sense of kinship grew even deeper. These days, I like my city very much— The roads moving on the path of development. For the displaced people, Hearing "Housing for all, a tap in every home, and water in every tap," I felt immense joy. To find oneself within oneself is what life is. To be able to forever hold onto the relationships That gradually connect over time is what life is. To give someone a little space in your heart is kinship, And to not let a single tear drop from someone's eye Is perhaps what love is. I do not know any other meaning of love, I do not know whom I will fall in love with. I cannot tell the address of a lover's eyes, I cannot tell why sleep vanishes At the sound of someone's anklets. I cannot tell how much intimacy lies In a lover's tight embrace. I do not know if a lover's smile brings liberation or bondage, Desire, or merely an illusion. I only wish that there be a path to liberation, That there be a thought of living and letting others live. Whether love happens or not, May the bird of love and well-wishes Forever take flight In the open sky. — Ratnamaya Tripathy Adhyayana, Balangir —————–Original Odia : Ratnamaya Tripathy Translated by…

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