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