"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…