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Let the Poem....
Let the poem bear not any title
Nor any name beneath,
Let there not be any references
enveloped
Let it remain untitled like a
folk-song
That spontaneously lingers on
one's lips
In it's own rhythm !
Let it remain as detached and
lucid
As a calm lake
As deep the thirst one holds,
May he quench it
With waters of meaning so deep !
Let it touch the obscure purport
Of a mind and shake the inner
self !
Let it rise from alphabets
Imprint itself on one's close
mind
And define his emotions within !
Let each traveller
Holding the fingers of words
Reach not to the same summit of
passion
Let the poem awaken in each
heart
Its own unique expression !!
A Starling
A starling, (maina) is marching
Across the dry scattered leaves
Fallen under a Banyan tree
With each step in the march
Her neck is moving to and fro
Leaving aside the dried leaves
Her yellow beak
Is picking up grain particles
Despite the fall of myriads of
leaves
Pointing to the decay of life
She is marching...
There is dignity in her march
Of a victorious soldier on a
battlefield
And wisdom of a Yogi
In her spontaneous gait
And she is just unaware of all
this !
(Translated by the poetess)
Published in Continuum 2005
by Poetry Club Of India, New
Delhi |
Let Us
Dear,
let us now remove
pictures of
Vrindavan Gardens
Green City
Niagara
a proud beauty
or a blue-eyed smiling baby -
displayed in our plush living
room.
Instead,
let us place there
pictures of barren mountains,
an innocent begging child,
a raped woman,
a village devastated by turns
by earthquake, bomb-explosion,
flood, storm or gang-war...
As an antique piece
let us place
a domestic stone grinder
besides this teapoy
and a winnowing fan too !
The grains which
would symbolize
our own selves
and keep us restless
every minute !
We owe this pain
to the grains in the grinder
My dear !
Translated from Marathi by
Niranjan Uzgare
Published in Indian Literature
Sept.-Oct. 2000
Sahitya Academy's bi-monthly
journal |
