It is said that You take incarnations, age after age, To alleviate the heavy burdens of this earth; To kindle the light of hope in the broken minds Of the poor, the destitute, the downtrodden, and the helpless. Today, the entire world stands startled and terrified, As malice and vengeance reach their absolute peak. In the very name of civilization, barbaric behaviors Are crossing every boundary and border, And the distant footsteps of doomsday can be heard drawing near. An era of misfortune has arrived today; Mother Earth is heavy-hearted, her face pale with sorrow. With the arrival of autumn (Sharata), return to us, O Mother! Dispel our weariness and soothe the hearts of millions. — 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

Every time I picked up the paintbrush To draw a portrait of myself, Instead of my own face, each time I saw someone else entirely. Not one, not two, But seven complete portraits. Failing to find myself in any of them, I finally gave up the attempt. In the tick-tock sound of the wall clock, I measured the pulse of the night. In every warm sip of my tea, I heard the snoring of a sleepy night. In the distant, agonizing wail of an unknown bird, I heard the scream of a helpless, innocent woman. In the howling of the jackals, I heard the mocking laughter of an incompetent ruler. In the furious barking of the street dogs, After a criminal had comfortably escaped, I heard the angry slogans of the public demanding justice and arrests. This time, at the sharp blast of the night watchman's whistle, The entire night fell dead silent. A voice seemed to echo: "Whoever you are, wherever you are, Stay exactly as you are. Do not protest, do not raise any counter-questions. The 'good days' (Achhe Din) are arriving ahead. If you can endure everything in absolute silence and survive, You shall witness the grand cosmic form of the Vishwaguru (World Leader). You may choose not to be a devotee of God, But you must certainly become a blind follower (Andhabhakta); Otherwise, pack your bags and leave this country!" Finally, with the combined morning chorus Of the vegetable-vendor and the fishmonger, My sleep was broken.…

"Hey… I am coming" Just to find the real answer to your "I am coming", I could never ask you when you are coming, Nor could I ever answer when you would return. Now, with what words of solace do I comfort That sixty-year-old father…… Who, after carrying his thirty-year-old son on his shoulders, Has just returned from burning his corpse at the crematorium? With what words do I distract and soothe The aching heart of that mother, Who, even today, as dawn breaks, Gathers your favorite drumstick greens (Munga Saga) from the backyard? Why do I fall dead silent At the question coming from those innocent lips— "Uncle…… when will papa come home...?" To this day, I haven't gathered the courage to look into That particular pair of eyes, To whom I had assured while leaving— "Have patience…. do not worry, Everything will be alright." But absolutely nothing turned out to be alright. Even today, the morning arrives With the wailing sirens of an ambulance, And the night descends with the burning fires of the crematorium. Yesterday it was your house…… today it is someone else's. The debts borrowed for your sister's wedding Are still left to be cleared. The house that was being constructed When you were blessed with a family— Remains unfinished to this day. Thinking that all worldly family responsibilities had finally ended, The feet that were heading toward the community prayer hall (Bhagabata Tungi), Are now out on the streets once again, in search of…

If the churning of the ocean (Samudra Manthan) were to happen once more, Which side would you choose to align with? Could you fight for equal rights During the distribution of the divine nectar (Amruta)? Becoming an ascetic, could you refuse To bring down the river Bhagirathi from the heavens? Becoming Bharata, instead of worshiping the wooden sandals (Paduka), Could you forcefully bring Lord Rama back to his kingdom? Becoming Arjuna, could you refuse the call to arms, Putting an end to the absolute resolve for war? Could you, in a mere flash, alter the truth that "The destruction of desire is the destruction of sorrow"? By not letting the log of wood Float away into the vast ocean, Could you, as the tribal chief Biswabasur, protect Your beloved deity, Lord Nilamadhab? Under whose command do these events unfold? At whose gesture does the cycle of seasons change? If everything is truly within your supreme control, Then, witnessing this mockery of human existence, Why do you remain so quiet, O Silent God...? — 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

Come, let us sit in silence for a while. No matter which season holds its court outside, Let us simply become like the sculptures of Konark. Whatever thoughts may cross anyone’s mind upon seeing us, Let us only think of each other. Come, let us sit in silence for a while. You must remember the evenings of our childhood— The riverbank, the deep orchards, and the game of hide-and-seek. The playful, make-believe anger, and the silent hurts (Abhimana). Let us search once again for those childhood paper boats. Come, let us sit in silence for a while. The flower that slipped from your braided hair, The half-written poem in the rough notebook, Your anklet—which you hid away while pretending That it was lost and could not be found anywhere in the river sand, And the Abir (colored powder) from your hands that drenched me in spring— Are all still treasured safely with me. Let us open the old diary and read the ghazals of our memories. Come, let us sit in silence for a while. Let the raindrops bring an intoxication to the heart, Let the body crave the warmth of love in the winter fog. Be it in the scorching heat of summer or the gentle breeze of spring, Let us sit and experience love all by ourselves. Come, let us sit in silence for a while. I know you are terrified of the eyes of the world, While I am someone who faces every storm with an open…

Even after reading the lines of your own destiny and future yourself, How can you manage To live with so much joy...? Being so far away from your loved ones, How do you still manage to weave Bonds of deepest reverence...? Ahead lies a completely dark and desolate road, Yet, where do you find the courage To keep advancing forward...? While the entire path is filled with questioning eyes, How can you still walk your way smoothly...? Amongst the familiar, friendly faces, Are you unable to see Their mocking, derisive smiles...? Here, when light arrives, even one's own shadow Abandons the body. To apply healing ointment on a wound of the right hand, Even the left hand refuses out of sheer contempt. Within the sweet messages of well-wishes, Can you really not see The venom of bitter criticism...? Beholding the urn of nectar (Amruta Kalasa), Before you close your eyes to drink from it, Recall Chanakya’s verse, just once! — 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

Uprooting the trees of sorrow from your courtyard, And planting them within my own, Look now, how they have bloomed With the beautiful flowers of happiness! Now, you tell me— Will you come to pluck these flowers away, Or will you bring some more trees of sorrow From your courtyard to give me as a gift...? Awaiting your answer....... Yours, Me — 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

Seeing me online until late into the night, Do not ever think that I am losing sleep As I drift away in thoughts of you. Going to bed without turning off my mobile data Has simply become a habit of mine now. When you call, does my number always show busy...? Well... remaining constantly occupied with work Has become my absolute duty now. Seeing me pass by the front of your house every single day, Do not assume that you should appear on your balcony. It is not to catch a glimpse of you, my dear— The road on the other side is blocked, And taking your street has just become a necessity now. Sundays mornings once used to belong entirely to you, But now, the mornings of every single day Belong solely to me. Writing poems centered around love and separation Has become quite outdated now. I heard that you read my poems on Facebook...? Why do you try to look for yourself Within every single verse...? Perhaps you do not know this yet— Thinking of anyone with the depth of intense love Has been strictly forbidden for me now. — 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, from inside the house, The winter has stepped out— From the body, from the mind, and from thoughts. The sleep suddenly broken By someone’s phone call Craves a warm, gentle touch. In the rich aroma of the teacup, The newly written schedule of the day Feels fresh and new. The messages on the mobile screen No longer bring much excitement. Yet, at the certainty of someone’s calling voice, The feet step forward… Though the laziness still refuses to break. "It’s been so many days since you came for a walk; Are you afraid of the winter... Or of your promises?" The dreams of the night, The half-written poems, And the warmth of the body Look so innocent nestled inside the blanket. But outside, The fog trapped in the veil of the saree (Panata), The dew resting on the palms, And the tender rays of the morning sun— Are all waiting. The hands no longer reach out For those romantic, enchanting poems Read until midnight. In the desperate hope of a restless, passionate embrace, The morning winter keeps gesturing with its hands From the other side of the window. — 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

With the monsoon as my witness, I have finally granted freedom now. Suppressing all grievances and silent hurts (Abhimana), I have untied the bonds of an age-old waiting. I will no longer ask the clouds The reason behind the delay of your arrival, Nor will my heart ever again Be intoxicated by the raw fragrance of the rain-drenched earth. If you can, spread open both Your butterfly wings. The entire vast sky is now open just for you; Fly around freely until you lose your way. Even if reluctantly, if sometime My courtyard happens to catch your eye from the sky, Come down just once to witness The austere life of this ascetic (Tapaswi)— How I pass my days Just to find the true destination of love. If you think That this is merely my false, prideful anger, Then come and take this oath from me: This is exactly how it will pass— My entirely solitary life. — 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