Translated from the Odia by Bibhu Padhi

The River Returns

Last evening a river
reached my doorstep.

Of course it walked
the concrete road, he walked.

I called him in and inside
my ill-organised memories
were writing their autobiographies.
At that time I was looking
for the fish who had jumped off
their happy aquarium.

The river sat on a plastic chair.

I had never seen in life
such a small river which
began at the head and ended at the feet.

What all the river had written down
in its diary. The letters were shaking
like drops of water? What was that language?
Not Oriya certainly. Even then I could
understand it.

A narrow lane loosened
towards the heart.

The river wore a pair of spectacles
of thick lenses, although I know
one does not need the eye
to see things here.
After a long time, I opened my eyes
and just then the river began to smile.

The darknesses around here know
how I have meditated to be a hill
for a long, long time, but I never thought

that one day a river would retrace itself
from the sea towards me, carrying
some salty water and some fine sand.

Last night I could not sleep so well.

The river must have to return,
but I never knew how it returns
on the road of dreams.

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Wind

I am the wind
and I can get into anything.

I stay under the gills of the red fish,
in the long road’s shadow-less, stunned
silence, under the shy of the eye,
like a warm breath, or stay on
a lost nameless dog’s tail.

I am the wind, your enemy.

Each time you bring me out
of your lung and heart,
I shall enter it again.

You can only get adjusted
to my ways, there is no other way.

However strong the wall
behind which you stay, whatever barricade
you raise against me, whatever net
you throw to overcome me,
I shall not listen to anyone’s
pressure or request

I shall not be afraid of your
red eyes and sirens, I shall not leave you.

I am the wind.
No one can open my knot.

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Sunset

What did you say?
These days the sunset
cannot be seen from the roof?

Yes, sunlight is now a calendar
on glossy paper. It can be torn off
to pieces, its redness and birdsongs.

When I was a child, sunshine
did have a meaning,
the day and night had a meaning;
the bird-songs and shadow play
under the moon had a meaning;
the stolen green coconut,
the nettle powder in the frocks,
the swollen fingers from the lantern glass,
the huts on the threshing field,
a hasty kiss on the river bank

What did you say? Yes, take
the sunset. I have preserved it
only for you, turning it
into a red, red heart.

Take, take soon. The sky is
melting away like ice cream.

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