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.…