Sunil Gangopadhyay poem, Beyond Birth or Death, Translated by Shyamashri Ray Karmakar

Nilim Kumar poems, Indian poems in English, Translated by Jayita Mukherjee

 

Two poems of Nilim Kumar

The Rain

His heart,

A high head hill.

I touch him 

As if I'm a cloud .

Collide against his rock hard chest sometimes 

drenching the hills

the trees, homes and fields

I glide down.

They think that  I am the rain.

The Sea

This is why the sea can never sleep.

Everytime the moon dips in his chest

Along with the stars to bathe.

The wind too longs to sleep with him

As do the snails and fish.

His heart blushes in crimson blee

Glancing at the fleet of boats and ships 

Still he falls in love with  the lass

Who picks up shells on the beach

In his arms she never submits

This is why the sea never sleeps.

Translated by Jayita Mukherjee 

Chaitali Chattopadhyay poems, Indian poems in English, translated by Soumi Sankhari

 

Homely

Chaitali Chattopadhyay 

He took the responsibility of her living.

She cooked nutritious food.

Star studded he returned  home in the evening.

She furbished home with care since the early morning .

He comes and goes. Comes and goes. Goes, comes and goes.

She buys rice, pulses and smile without even losing a breath.

He is into cards, sometimes into theatre. 

She plays sitar on air, without strings.

He went somewhere and left his mind there.

With swollen eyes she took tranquilizers.

He is there but still there he isn’t. 

She sleeps, gets up and walks as if in dream.

Will they part ways? Won't they opt for children?

None of the mortals but God only knows  everything.

Translated by Shyamashri Ray Karmakar   

Birendra Chattopadhyay poem, Indian poems in translation, by Sourjya Roy

 

Birendra Chattopadhyay 

My India

My India

Is of 50 million

Scantily clad humans

Who toil hard in the sun

All day.

And then

Do not sleep.

For hunger or cold;

Compels them to stay awake.

Kings come and go.

Jealousy and hatred

Pollute the pages of

History.

Turns the water slimy.

Shroud air with

Impenetrable smog.

Gradually.

Conspiracies are all around.

Ravings of greedy, power-mongers

Are all around.

Battle and famine come

Together

With arms locked

In warm embrace.

Venomous fangs

Haunt the land.

And Tiger

Strikes terror.

My India knows not them

Defies their summons

Her children still shiver

In hunger,

In biting cold, amidst pummeling

From all sides.

But innocent they are

And twined in fraternal bonds.

Translated by Sourjya Roy    

Chaitali Chattopadhyay, poem, Home service, Translated by Soumi Sankhari

 

Home Service

Chaitali Chattopadhyay

When the cooking was done, the kitchen washed away fully.

Being firewood , I keep sending message,

Reiterating -" Hey! Hear me! I want food".

Different delicacies, chutney, sukto, rice and sweets..

Perhaps I give them wrong address. 

They waiver from the path, take a long road to return.

They arrive as mourning and delight 

When they arrive, by then

I have fallen asleep 

Like a cat

Steeped in the delicious smell

Of my neighbour's kitchen. 

Translated by Shyamashri Ray Karmakar 

Kabita Sinha poem / For Insults, I Come / Translated by Sourjya Roy

 

KABITA Sinha

For Insults, I Come

  

Time and time again

You call me to insult.

And I come to you

Again and again.

I need your hurled abuses.

You call me with mirage

In your hand,

Of friendship and riches

Far beyond any measures.

I need your deceptions.

Time and time again

You call me to insult.

And I come to you

Again and again.

In a court of stone deafs and harlequins.

Amidst them, my saree

The nine yards of draping

Fall short to cover up

My modesty.

I find no Hand

With flowing cotton

To robe me.

Time and time again

You call me to insult.

And I come to you

Again and again.

You then open the gates

To unleash the hounds of disgrace

Upon me.

I need to be sullied.

Don't amend

Your art of war.

Ergo, don't shake hands.

You won't find my palms tendered

With olives.

Translated by Sourjya Roy 

Kabita Sinha was born in 1931. She was a Bengali poet, novelist, feminist and radio director. She is noted for her modernist stance, rejecting the traditional housebound role for Bengali women, a predecessor of the  poets including Mallika Sengupta and Taslima Nasrin.

অপমানের জন্য ফিরে আসি

কবিতা সিংহ 

অপমানের জন্য বার বার ডাকেন

ফিরে আসি

আমার অপমানের প্রয়োজন আছে!

ডাকেন মুঠোয় মরীচিকা রেখে

মুখে বলেন বন্ধুতার _ বিভূতি _

আমার মরীচিকার প্রয়োজন আছে।

অপমানের জন্য বার বার ডাকেন

ফিরে আসি

উচ্চৈঃশ্রবা বিদূষক-সভায়

শাড়ি স্বভাবতই ফুরিয়ে আসে

আমার যে

কার্পাসের সাপ্লাই মেলে না।

অপমানের জন্য বার বার ডাকেন

ফিরে আসি

ঝাঁপ খুলে লেলিয়ে দেন কলঙ্কের অজস্র কুক্কুর _

আমার কলঙ্কের প্রয়োজন আছে !

যুদ্ধরীতি পাল্টানোর কোনও প্রয়োজন নেই

তাই করমর্দনের জন্য

হাত বাড়াবেন না।

আমার করতলে কোনও অলিভচিক্কন কোমলতা নেই

Rajumoni Shaikia/ Diseases The Spotlight Syndrome / Assamese Poem

Diseases: The Spotlight Syndrome

 

 Rajumoni Shaikia

How are you dear,

Did you ask  yourself about yourself ?

How much happiness is left in your heart so far?

How many days have you been embarrassed by how much grief?

Yes, it is my question to you . I am questioning you. 

To a lesser extent we are all suffering from a terrible disease .

Always the beauty , the hair style,  colour of lipstik, uses of eyelinner , the quality of laughing , the twinkling of eyes and the style of walking is compared and criticised by us.

 --- These are the symptoms of a disease which goes by the name of Spotlight Syndrome.

This is where we weigh our lives,

Divide people into castes, rich and poor, blacks and whites, religions, gods, places of worship, etc .; 

--- People may get sick when the disease ages 

This is because we dream of crores of rupees, honour the rich and powerful with the  prestigious Gamusa Seleng.(Cloth).

These are the people who go on pilgrimage to by their sinful earning ; They are very sick.

George Floyd was killed in the United States because of such illness,

The heart of sabotaged people burns , they start to protest with unsocial activity to get their freedom. 

This is because of the fact that it is the only way to get rid of this disease.

Only a person suffering from this disease can drink the blood of a human being. They are even unaware about the colour of blood . 

The Upanishads may have known that the disease would occur,

The infallible nectar of truth was written-- 'Such a day will be come, only a rebuked untruthful man will be worshipped.'

Man is the son of Amrit.

The human being who lives among every human being becomes the idol of humanity.

Where there are no stars, there is no sky .

Some of the infected people are same as.

When the disease turns chronic, people are unaware of the corpse of the man who died of starvation. When the disease turns chronic,

 the man suffers from dementia . 

He destroys  the foundation of humanity. 

How are you dear,

Did ever ask yourself about yourself ?

How much happiness is left in your heart so far?

How many days have you been embarrassed by how much grief? Did you read about your death lines anywhere,

How long does it take for a person to live in the palm of his hand before he dies?

Yes, I'm asking you,

That's you to answer yourself.

 

 

 ৰোগ: স্পটলাইট চিন্ড্ৰম

ৰাজুমনি শইকীয়া

তুমি বাৰু কেনে আছা?

সুধিছানে নিজকে কেতিয়াবা?

হিচাপ কৰি চাইছানে কিমান সুখ জমা ৰ’ল আজিলৈকে তোমাৰ বুকুত?

কিমান দুখত তুমি বিব্ৰত হৈছিলা কিমান দিন?

হয়, মই তোমাকেই সুধিছো ৷

আমি সকলো কমবেছি পৰিমানে এটা ভয়ানক ৰোগত আক্ৰান্ত হৈ আছো অহৰহ ৷ এই যে কোন কিমান ধুনীয়া, হেয়াৰ ষ্টাইল কাৰ কেনেকুৱা, লিপষ্টিক- আইলিনা কোনে কিমান ঘঁহে , হাঁহিটো কাৰ ধুনীয়া, কাৰ কাৰ চকুৱে কথা কয়, খোজকাঢ়ে কোনে ক’ত কেনেকৈ 

 ---এইবোৰ একো একোটা ৰোগৰেই লক্ষণ আৰু তাৰ নাম স্পটলাইট চিন্ড্ৰম ৷

এই যে তুলাচনীত আমি আমাৰ জীৱন জোখো, 

ভাগ ভাগ কৰো মানুহে মানুহক জাত-পাত,ধনী- দুখীয়া, ক’লামানুহ- বগামানুহ, ধৰ্ম ,ভগৱান, উপাসনাস্হল আদিৰে ; ---ৰোগটো পুৰণিহ’লেই  হয়তো এনেকুৱাই কৰে মানুহে !

এই যে আমি দেখো কোটি টকাৰ সপোন, ধনৱান-ক্ষমতাশীল বাবেই যে

অপাত্ৰ-অমানুহৰ ডিঙিত আৰি দিওঁ গামোছা-চেলেং,

এই যে পাপৰ ধন লৈ তীৰ্থ ঘুৰে মানুহবোৰ; সিহঁত নিতান্তই ৰোগীয়া ৷

এই ৰোগত মানুহ আক্ৰান্ত বাবেই  আমেৰিকাত জৰ্জ ফ্লয়ডক মৰিয়াই মাৰিলে পুলিছে, 

এই ৰোগত  মানুহ আক্ৰান্ত বাবেই প্ৰতিবাদত মানুহে জ্বলাই দিয়ে দেশে -দেশে দেশৰ সম্পদ,

এই ৰোগত ৰোগাক্ৰান্ত মানুহেই শুহি খাব পাৰে মানুহৰ তেজ ৷ তেজৰ কি ৰং নাজানে সিহঁতে !

এইৰোগ হ’ব বুলি জানিছিল হয়তো উপনিষদে,

লিখিছিল অকাট্য অমৃত সত্য--' এনে দিন আহিব এদিন সততা হ’ব তীৰস্কৃত অসত্যক মানুহেই কৰিব পুজা ৷’ 

মানুহ অমৃতৰ পুত্ৰ ৷

প্ৰতিজন মানুহৰ মাজত মানুহ জীয়াই থাকে মানৱতাৰ প্ৰতিমা হৈ ৷

য’ত তৰা নাই , সেয়া আকাশ নহয় ৷ ৰোগাক্ৰান্ত একাংশ মানুহ তেনেকুৱাই ৷ 

ৰোগ যাৰ পুৰণি হয় , 

নেদেখে তেওঁ ভাত ৰুটিৰ অভাৱত মৰা মানুহৰ শৱ ৷

ৰোগ যাৰ পুৰণি হয় ,

তেওঁ ভূগি থাকে ডিমেনচিয়াত ৷ মানুহ নেদেখে তেওঁ, ভাঙে মাথো মানৱতাৰ বুনিয়াদ ৷

তুমি বাৰু কেনে আছা?

সুধিছানে নিজকে কেতিয়াবা?

হিচাপ কৰি চাইছানে কিমান সুখ জমা ৰ’ল আজিলৈকে তোমাৰ বুকুত?

কিমান দুখত তুমি বিব্ৰত হৈছিলা কিমান দিন?

হাতৰ তলুৱাৰ ৰেখাত পঢ়িছানে কটমান দীঘলীয়া নিজৰ আয়ুস মৃত্যুৰ আগে পাছে ?

হয়, মই তোমাকেই সুধিছো,

তোমাকেই ৷

Debarati Mitra/ Afterlife and other poems/ Translated by Sourjya Roy

 

 Poems of Debarati Mitra

Translated by Sourjya Roy

1.Afterlife

I have seen Afterlife - - 

His voice, meek, oozes

Compassion and humbleness.

His face reveals glints 

Of intense light 

And tireless darkness.

Since the start, he has been saying

"Your son is not with me.

He is just a kid, probably had taken a fall somewhere,

Come here, and search.

If he sees you, he will sing for you from afar.

Let me think how far and what else we can do."

2.

The Lemon Tree of Fairytale

Life could be like the lemon tree

Of fairytale!

Where lemons stay young forever. 

They don't fall. They don't die. 

Only new lemons come

To adorn the tree with an everlasting

Viridity.

But

No one told me what happened next.

Don't want to think or know about what lies ahead.

I am just an old woman, 

With zero knowledge of philosophy or mental maths.

I only know how to live.

Debarati Mitra is a noted  Bengali poet. She has published eight collections of poetry. Her poetry is resolutely ‘modern in subject and style’. She has earned a distinctive place in Bengali literature. Her first book, Andha School e Ghanta Baje, was published in 1974. Subtle, metaphorical and delicately wrought, her poetry has been widely acclaimed. She received the Ananda Puraskar for poetry in 1995.

Bijoya Mukhopaddha, Poem- Once I Die / Translated by Jayita Mukherjee

 

Poem by Bijoya Mukhopaddhay 

Once I Die

once I die

Love must die with me

Leaving the world as free as a widow harlot,

Free as a man in utter misogyny

Mere hubbub on motherhood,

Terror in the name of union 

The sheer wantonness in love

Scatters filthy air all around 

Love walks the way the animal does,

In cities, in its houses on the roads.

In villages and meadows

It wears out and rusts.

I've watched for long

The weariness in her eyes.

I must die. Along with me the love will depart.

We both leave blessings behind.....

O mother earth! Let loose your burden now.

translated by Jayita Mukherjee 

Poem/ Bijoya Mukhopaddhay/ Once I Die/ Translated by Jayita Mukherjee / ...

Bubun Chattopadhyay's poem/ Weave/ Translated by Jayita Mukherjee

Weave

Bubun Chattopadhyay

Down there, inside

Reside a shattered moon,

An unfathomed abyss,

An endless aisle in fields

where there is no home,

Nothing to find but horizon

That stands as mirage alone.

you frequent such a way for walk,

you sink down the desk 

In search for the coffined words 

And then made them clash 

That a fire must be born,

A spark for a moment and gone....

Blown out into dark of despair.

Thus lives the life the poet

weaving the threads of failure.

Translated by Jayita Mukherjee