Manoj Kumar Ponda, Oriya poem, Translated by Pradip Kumar Roy, यज्ञ दृश्य, Jayita Mukherjee, राधु_मिश्र,

 

Manoj Kumar Ponda

যজ্ঞ  দৃশ্য

                

মূল কবিতা ( ওড়িয়া) - কবি মনোজ কুমার পাণ্ডা

বাংলা অনুবাদ :- প্রদীপ কুমার রায়

বিরল এক ঘটনা ঘটেছে  ।

এসো , যে যেখানে আছো

সেই পবিত্র যজ্ঞকে প্রত্যক্ষ কর      

নিজ নিজ রুদ্ধ ঘরের জানালা খুলে  ।

রোগ , ক্ষুধা , যুদ্ধ ও দাঙ্গায়

মৃত ষোল লক্ষ শিশুদের শুকনো হাড়ে

হোমের কুণ্ড প্রস্তুত  ।

ষাট মণ রক্ত

যা  ঝরেছে অপ্রাপ্তবয়স্কদের ধর্ষণে

আহুতি হবে সেখানে ।

পঞ্চশষ্য হবে -

দুর্ভিক্ষ পীড়িত লোকদের চোখ

সীমান্তে পাহারায় থাকা সৈনিকের হাত

বিস্থাপিত লোকদের হৃৎপিণ্ড,

অসময়ে খসে পড়া ভ্রুণ,

কবিদের কাটা আঙুল  ।

দুর্ঘটনায় মৃত লোকদের

শোকসন্তপ্ত মায়েদের চোখের জলে

 পূর্ণ পূজোর কলস  ।

চরম অশ্লীল শব্দ

উচ্চারিত হবে মন্ত্র ভাবে ।

অর্চ্চক  হবেন

ন্যায়িক , ধার্মিক , রাজনেতা এবং

তথাকথিত জ্ঞানী  ও মানীগণ  ।

অনেক বছর পরে জানালা খুলতে খুলতে

সেই দুর্লভ দৃশ্য টি আচ্ছন্ন করেছে আমাকে

কোনো অঘটন কে এড়িয়ে যেতে

পরবর্তী পৃথিবী ও আগামী বংশধরদের জন্য

হয়তো উদভ্রান্ত ঈশ্বরের সন্তুষ্টি র জন্য

নিঃশেষ হতে আসা বিশ্বাস কে নিয়ে

এই  শেষতম উদ্যম ।

পূর্ণাহুতি পর্যন্ত খুলে রাখবো জানালা

একবার দেখার জন্য

শেষ হয়ে যাওয়া পৃথিবীর

এক নিষিদ্ধ দৃশ্য   ।।

বাংলা অনুবাদ করেছেন প্রদীপ কুমার রায়

मनोज_कुमार_पंडा

    यज्ञ दृश्य    

एक बिरल घटना घट रही है

आओ, जो जहाँ भी हो

इस पावन यज्ञ को प्रत्यक्ष करो

अपने-अपने बंद घरों की खिड़की से

भूख, बीमारी, युद्ध और दंगे से मरे

सोलह लाख बच्चों की सूखी हड्डियों से

तैयार है हवन कुंड

नाबालिगों के दुष्कर्म से निकले

साठ मन लहू की

आहूति होगी उसमें

पंचशस्य होगा -

सूखापीड़ित लोगों की आँखें

सीमा पर तैनात सैनिकों के हाथ

विस्थापित लोगों के हृतपिंड

असमय गिराए गए भ्रूण

और कवियों की कटी हुई ऊँगलियाँ

दुर्घटना में मरे लोगों की

शोकाकूल माँओं के आँसुओं से भरा पूजा कलस

अश्लीलतम शब्दों से ही

मंत्रोच्चार होगा

अर्चक होंगे

न्यायिक, धार्मिक, राजनेता

और तथाकथित ज्ञानी और मानी गण

काफी साल बाद खिड़की खोलते ही 

वह दुर्लभ दृश्य मुझ पर हावी हो गया है

किसी भी अशुभ को टालने के लिए

अगली पृथ्वी और आनेवाली पीढ़ी के लिए और

हो सकता है उदभ्रांत ईश्वर की संतुष्टि के वास्ते

समाप्त हो रहे विश्वास को लेकर

यह अंतिम प्रयास है

पूर्णाहूति तक खिड़कियों को खुली रखें

एक बार देख लें

खत्म हो रही पृथ्वी के इस निषिद्ध दृश्य को।

 ओड़िआ से भाषांतर : #राधु_मिश्र

A Holy Sight

Manoj Kumar Panda 

Something unusual occurred.

come whoever may,

open up the windows  of your locked rooms

and behold . 

The pyre is all set

On the perched bones of sixteen lakh children

Who died of disease, hunger

wars and riots.

Sixty gallons of blood from the raped ones

Being offered as sacrifice.

The  five holy grains

What are they comprised of?

Famine struck eyes of men , 

Hands of soldiers who protect borders,

Hearts and ribs of migrants,

Fetus discriminately 

killed, 

severed fingers of poets.

 

Tears of bereaved mothers

Who lost their children before time 

Fills the holy pitcher to the brim.

Indecent words 

Would be uttered as hymns.

Who would be the priest?

The judges, preachers, ministers,

So called sage and wise men

The sight has cast a spell on me

As I open my windows after ages.

This might be the last endeavour

For a belief about to fuse.

An endeavour to avert  perils looming large

upon generations to come,

Or an endeavour to appease a wayward god.

I will keep the window open

Till the sacrifices are done,

To witness the forbidden sight again

In this dead world.

            __

Translated by Jayita Mukherjee  ______________________

Pradip Kumar Roy 

            ________________________

Hindol Bhattacharjee, poem, Translated poems,

 

The Transition 

Slowly, you are going to be beautiful, get rid of politics now

Those who have set fire, must know how to extinguish

The sky is pouring down the ashes you see, don't look at it

Do not get handful of sands, in stead, come nearer to the tree

Talk to water, slowly try to listen

Words, whom you did not pay respect at all, are talking around you.

Sorrow is sleeping within laughter, laughter is sleeping within pathos.

You do not look at the mirror darling, only when it is the night

He is coming, walking down the lane through the mirror

Standing in front of him, you are combing his hair

With a perfect razor, you are shaving his unfaithful face

Then with a trusted knife, you are asking him to leave. 

You are really becoming the beauty, those who can't recognize you, ask them to come.

The earth should be clean, Mind should become the tree, after that, let us celebrate. 

About the translation:  The transition is the English translation of the poetry ' Sankranti', taken from " Je Gaan Raater' 

published by Signet in 2018. 

Translation- Translated by the poet himself 

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar, Poem, Bengali poem in Translation, Soliloquy,

 

Shyamashri Ray  Karmakar

Soliloquy

 1.

 Lo, Beautiful !  I look at you

My defences collapse 

Imber unfurls at my heart

 2.

Shadow has no enemy, I thought 

I sat behind the shadow, 

In  shadow-synthesis 

 I weigh more and more, like an iceberg

All at once

The sun grips my shoulder

like a hawk 

3.

 Sins cling to my ankles still

Couldn’t wash them

The roots went deep deep down my room

 Metamorphosed me into The Tree  

 What moves now? Merely  the hands of time 

Translated by self

শ্যামশ্রী রায় কর্মকার 

সলিলকি (খোঁজ পত্রিকা)

১.

সুন্দর! তোমাকে দেখে সব প্রতিরোধ খসে পড়ে

হৃদয়ে ছড়িয়ে যায় অস্ত্রের উপদলগুলি

২.

ছায়ার শত্রু নেই ভেবে

ছায়াটির আড়ে বসি, ছায়াসংশ্লেষে 

হিমশৈলের মতো ভারী হই আরও  

আচমকা কাঁধের ওপরে 

বাজপাখির পায়ের মতো রোদ পড়ে

৩.

পায়ে লেগেছিল কিছু পাপ

ধোওয়া হয়নি বলেই

শিকড়টি নেমে গেছে ঘরের গভীরে 

আপাতত গাছ হয়ে আছি

শুধু সময়ের হাত নড়ে

   1)

Ay ...nur - e- hasi

Teri ahat se behizab ye dilo se gir jaye har maje hue hathiyar....

2)

Koi jani dusmani nahi 

Teri aghosh ke saye me 

Barfili pahari ki tarha 

Kandhe pe ab samhale na  jaye woh same hue baar ko...

Bass kuch bikhre parha hua 

Baz ki nakhun zyasi shatil dhup ki gulkari..

3)

Payero me iklati gunah..

Jarr jyase kured kar chubnewala

Ghar ki gaherayiyoome

Filhaal tanha per si khari hoo

Gunjti sirf wakt ki hatheli...!!

 Urdu Translation  by Rudra Sankar Bhattacharyya

ମୂଳ ବଙ୍ଗଳା :: ଶ୍ୟାମାଶ୍ରୀ ରାୟ କର୍ମକାର

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

ଅନୁବାଦ :: ପ୍ରଦୀପ କୁମାର ରାୟ

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

           ×××  ସଲିଳକି ×××

           °°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

                    • ୧ •

ସୁନ୍ଦର ! ତୁମକୁ ଦେଖି ସବୁ ପ୍ରତିରୋଧ ଖସିପଡେ

ହୃଦୟରେ ବିଛେଇ ହୁଏ ଅସ୍ତ୍ରର ଉପଦଳ ସବୁ

                    • ୨ •

ଛାୟା ର ଶତ୍ରୁ ନାହିଁ ଭାବି

ଛାୟା ର ଆଢ଼ୁଆଳରେ ବସେ ଛାୟା ସଂଶ୍ଲେଷରେ

ହୀମଶୈଳ ପରି ଆହୁରି ଭାରୀ ହୁଏ

ହଠାତ୍ କାନ୍ଧ ଉପରେ

ବାଜପକ୍ଷୀର ପଂଝା ପରି ଖରା ପଡେ

                 • ୩ •

ପାଦରେ ଲାଗିଥିଲା କିଛି ପାପ

ଧୁଆ ହୋଇନାହିଁ ବୋଲି

ଚେର ମାଡ଼ି ଯାଇଛି ଘରର ଗଭୀରେ

ଆପାତତଃ ଗଛ ହୋଇ ରହିଛି

କେବଳ ସମୟର ହାତ ହଲେ  ।

Translated in Oriya by Pradip Kumar Roy. 

           

ওড়িয়া অনুবাদটি বাংলা হরফে -

সুন্দর!  তুমকু দেখি সবু প্রতিরোধ খসিপড়ে

হৃদয়রে বিচ্ছেই হুএ অস্ত্রর উপদল সবু

               ২

ছায়ার শত্রু নাহি ভাবি

ছায়ার আঢুআলরে বসে ছায়া

সংশ্লেষরে

হীমশৈল পরি আহুরি ভারী হুএ

হঠাৎ কান্ধ উপরে 

বাজপক্ষীর পঙখাপরি খরা পড়ে

                   ৩

পাদরে লাগিথিলা কিছি পাপ

ধুয়া হোইনাহি বোলি

চের গাড়ি যাইছি ঘরর গভীরে 

আপাততঃ গছ হোই রহিছি

কেবল সময়র হাত হলে 

Pradip Kumar Roy এর অনুবাদটি বাংলা হরফে উপস্থাপন করলেন শ্রদ্ধেয় #kinkar Chakraborty

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar, Indian poems in translation, poems, translated by Sourjya Roy,

 

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar

A Tender, Timid Question to You

 

My words that were locked

 float away on a feeble raft

 towards territories uncharted, beyond horizon.

Did I ask you for anything that's deplorable?

I just asked you for equal rights.

The one who served you food and wrapped you in love ,

The one who filled your body, the holy brass pitcher, 

With beauty, sense, and throbbing of the heart

Why push her away?

Life is not about running into the scenes

Feeling restless listening to some unknown calls

Like a long snake, the brooding monologue of pain coils around me.

The pain is the venom

That licks my wounds till the tongue slits in two.

Till the pile of my grief starts crumbling bit by bit.

Questions rise from the quiver

Like the tip of the wave

Only to hurl themselves on the shore

Only to strike like a snake.

Those insects that die in funeral pyre

Are the first to get sesame and rice in the mourning ritual.

All you ancient sages, 

You send fathers to guide men to the afterlife.

Think something about women too.

Why do you keep the mothers away from their children?

Why can't they guide their own descents to the Infinity?

 

 

একটি নরম ভীরু প্রশ্ন আপনাকে (যুগশঙ্খ)

শ্যামশ্রী রায় কর্মকার 

আমার জমানো কথা ভেসে যায় কলার মান্দাসে 

অধিক চেয়েছি কিছু? শুধুমাত্র সম অধিকার। 

যে তোমাকে প্রতিক্ষণ বেড়ে দিল অন্ন ও আদর

দেহের মঙ্গলঘটে ভরে দিল রূপ, রস, অচিন্ত্য স্পন্দন 

তাকে কেন দূরে ঠেলে রাখা?  

জীবন তো শুধু নয় দৃশ্যের ভিতর ছুটে যাওয়া 

অলক্ষ্য বাঁশির শব্দে দ্বিধাখণ্ডিত হওয়া বুক

দীঘল সাপের মতো মনোলগ আমাকে জড়ায়

জিভের দ্বিখণ্ডিত দেওয়ালে ঠেকিয়ে ধরে পিঠ

নিয়ত লেহনে ক্ষয়ে ক্ষয়ে যায় শোকের সম্ভার

ঢেউয়ের শীর্ষদেশে ফণা তোলে প্রশ্নের আয়ূধ 

শেষের আগুনে যারা পুড়ে যায়,মৃত পতঙ্গম 

সর্বাগ্রে তাকে দিই তিল ও তণ্ডুল 

হে ধৌম্যাদি, 

পুরুষকে পাঠালেন পিতৃপুরুষের হাত ধরে

নারীর বিষয়ে কিছু মনস্থির করুন 

মৃত্যুতেও মাতৃস্নেহ দেবেন না তাকে?

সন্তানের হাত ধরে নিয়ে যেতে দেবেন না অনন্তের ঘরে ?

Translated by Sourjya Roy

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar poems, Translated by Sourjya Roy

  

 

Three Lovers

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar 

It was a lonely fount that Shyamlal stole

In his eyes, he had a pristine postoffice

And in his bag, a forest of some wild berries.

Madhav had a mind for notes

And his fingers found my body like a harp.

He desired to spend the whole noon

Amidst tunes of longing,

Of passion.

Now, a daffodil has sprouted,

From his chest where his heart

Once panted

With gentle beats of drums,

Kanchan used to catch larks.

Under his pillow,

Two kingfishers have nestled

To start a new life.

In the bed of the young lass

The valley of tulip hums.

Last night, her heart throbbed

Like a swan, 

Pierced by pollens.

Like a thunderbolt

The phone rang in her head.

Voices on the other side 

Were smeared With silver,

Like the clouds 

Draped in the moon.

In her dreams,

By the door

She was lying 

On the sandal floor.

She didn't realise

Who kept the full moon 

On her palm,

And asked her "Do I still rouse you 

From half-baked slumber?"

Translated by Sourjya Roy 

Let Me Tell You a Secret

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar 

If I light a candle amid this torrential downpour,

If I relax the clasp of darkness over the night,

Then in my clutch thunder will throb.

The primitive smell of the sky is coming nigh,

To envelop me.

Let the lights get drenched to their core.

A blue river is standing under the eaves, under the broken glass.

Her feet is keeping my doors ajar.

The blossoms of July are now riding on her back,

Painting the heaving drapes.

Its sweet scents have drowned 

The grills of my balcony. 

The storm that has visited me now 

Is from a distant land, 

From a forgotten time.

On the table, the words of Sophocles

Are flying. 

Restless they are.

The unquenched drips of the candle is burning

The eyes of Oedipus.

If I don’t open the door now,

The river will go back to the crossroad.

And a sea of fire will engulf the sleepless walls 

Of my haven.

Translated by Sourjya Roy 

Arunava Raha Ray, Bengali poems, Translated by Pratyush Karmakar

 

At Jorasanko with Snija

I ran out of poems

But a few of the songs of you came flipping their wings all the way to me,

I ask my writings to get drenched in soothing water,

I assure them that there is nothing that can be better

My dearest,I give you the name 'Snija'

I shall call you lovingly by this name from this very moment 

I shall drape your love all over my new born poems

During the rainy season the blow came from far away America...

Forget it, I thought with a sigh;

My dear, come, let's take a stroll at Jorasanko, together you and I

Goddess

For long I had been walking on a rope 

Albeit it was tough

But I travelled a fruitful distance no doubt 

Where I finally stopped is called earth

Some unknown artist meticulously made you with this very earth

I place poems in your ten palms instead of brutal weapons,

But you fling all the poems unto the unknown;

After some moments of loathsome disgust

The poems will become burning stars

Myth

If you really hurt me I shall not hesitate to go away

And lean against the dejected sky

Why are you so silent yet unfathomable ?

You are like a drop of water on the floor

Today I retrieved this drop of water from the River Jalangi 

While still leaning against the sky I shall certainly make you understand-

That you are water

I shall, one day, like the fabled crow, bring you up from the depth of the earthen pitcher by putting stone chips one after the other until I can touch you. 

You are water

Silent Belle

The colour of your disregard is like that of the dusk in flight

Which hides itself on the back of the moon

Sleepy eyelids are like weary rivulet which wash away all the light within

You come hurriedly to the office gate,

And lo! There drips down your body a lightning divine

Translated by Pratyush Karmakar 

Malsawmi Jacob, Mizo poem in translation

Mizo poem and translation

 Malsawmi Jacob

Pi Hmuaki

(Pi Hmuaki was the first Mizo song composer known by name. She was buried alive, supposedly for composing so many songs that the villagers were afraid the coming generations would have nothing more to compose. The version given here is the present poet’s interpretation)

They couldn’t stand your prophetic voice

that spoke against their misdeeds

as night after night you sang your songs

in your lonely hut

Your gong music enchanted them

melody drove them wild

but the lyrics did the mischief – 

the lyrics pierced their hearts.

The heroes loved their exploits

heads and loots won in raids

killing was the way to live

to attain the honoured place in pialral

You derided their philosophy

wouldn’t sing their eulogy

after a successful raid,

tried to stop them dating lasi    

told them to choose tlangsam over kangthai

Their annoyance grew day by day,

decided to silence you altogether

Shut you out from golden sunlight

wind and call of chuk-chu-ri-kur.

Your gong still rings under the earth

Bong! Bong!

A disturbance in tyrants’ ears.

 Note: 1.The place where the spirits of dead people were believed to go. ‘Heroes’ who had slain many enemies and animals were supposed to receive a special treatment there.

2. Wood nymphs who helped men they fell in love with to shoot many animals.

3. A plant used for healing wounds.

4.Nettle 

5.Spotted dove

Pi Hmuaki (Mizo language)

Malsawmi Jacob

 

An tuar hlel maw i ânka chhuak 

an thawh sual hâi lang tu! 

I rûn riangah zantin mal te’n 

zâitin i sak lai khân 

i dâr ri mâwi an ngâi ning lo 

i zâihla mâwi an ti. 

Mahse i thûhlâ in lung a dêng 

an thinlairil a khei. 

Ramvachal vâl mihrâng rualin 

dorâl rêl an lungkham, 

rallâk rosum leh milu hawn 

an duhsâm ber lo ni. 

Chengrâng an châwi, chemsen an lek 

pialrâl ngûrnun chan nân. 

An fin i nuihsan, râl rêl i dem 

bawhhla i dêu, lasi zâwl i sêl 

kângṭhâi hnâwla tlângsâm chelek i rawt. 

An thin a sâ, ha chang an ṭhial 

i kâ hup hlen an rêl thlu ta. 

An khârkhip che ni êng lakah 

thlifîm leh chuk-chu-ri-kûrh âw nên. 

Leithuah hnuâiah i dâr a la ri 

Beng! Beng! 

Nunrâwng lungmâwl zilh nân.

 

Nabanita Deb Sen poems

 

The house tinged in sorrow 

1

My house is tinged in sorrow 

Won't be back. Please Steer the sailboat in reverse 

Blow somewhere else

Hey wind of mind !

2.

Everybody changes

Not much

Only a little 

Changing nights and days, seasons, everything.

3 

The secret has been unveiled  

She was never there 

It was only the shadow 

4 

There's nothing  to be coy 

If the spring is full of error

There's nothing  to be coy

While weeping my dear 

5 

Now the question is whether to retreat 

It is harder to pull back than to return  ; 

Though the soul doesn’t belong here 

 6 

The full moon has plunged  

into dark poison, oily soot 

So much venom 

On the designer pillow woven in silk

 7 

Now in hell, the torment goes on 

The Ocean  sinks beneath the sand 

My dear heart sings in delirium 

 8

The eyes tell me, it's Time 

There’s a question, that remains 

Who is going to open the gate 

 

 

9 

I will not crave for your touch 

Nor would I ask for the

 kiss of basil and sandal 

on my eyes 

Let the last naked glance stare 

And utter, "Don't come back again!"

 10

This face, I know not this face 

This tongue, I know not this tongue 

My body is inadequate now a days

I'm brimming over my own self

Translated by Rajesh Chatterjee

Edited by Shyamashri Ray Karmakar      

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