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…