Two Oriya Poems

BY BAIKUNTHA NATH PATNAIK
(Free English Rendering by the Writer)

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: The first deals with the fond Dreams about the New Era that has just begun to dawn.

The second is a symbolic poem–the story of a lover’s betrayal at the ripe age. The lover picked up the rose of his choice which, in the past, captivated his mind with her glamour and fragrance. But when Time dropped the petals and stole all external beauty from the Rose of Love, the lover shifted to another, forgetting that the fragrance of love settled down at stem from the petals. He was foolish enough not to realise this love moaning at or round about the stem which is too deep for tears.)

I. Lo! There Comes the Light!

Lo! There comes the light of the New Year
through the fissure of your cottage.
The new Dawn looks at you,
along with the New Sun!
Awake, Ye poet! to write their eulogy.

Call your Beloved who had
lost her youth prematurely
to place it in her broken bosom:
Anoint the withered body of your
ailing child to give it a new shape!
Lo! There comes the light!

Remember, Ye poet! that thou should’st
live in the hope of the new Era;
And sip the poison in order to sing the
glories of the new creation.

Who is there to light the sacrificial fire
if tears simmer in the eyes of the priest?
And who will be the conscience-keeper in the
endless dark if Bards turn out effete?

Call all the meek who, so long, heaped
piles of tears in their homestead
to welcome the glorious New Year’s Sun.
Call all the downtrodden, the cramped and the crippled,
call all those homeless nomads,
to glory in the light of the New Years Sun
Lo! There comes the light!

2. The Fragrance Bemoans at the Stem
(From the Rose of Love)

Would thou look down upon the Rose of Love,
because its lustre faded?
Would thou throw it on the dust,
because her petals
dropped, not knowing that the
fragrance bemoans at the Stem?

Remember, thou bore it on thy head when the rose was
in full bloom; pressed it
at thy breast, washing it
all over with tears!
Could thou forget, thou sang in overwhelming
delight once,–my hopes
are more than fulfilled’?

Bees are bewildered in colours and fragrance,
and, indifferent to the dew-drops that
are at the stem, know not what is love.
But know, thou tramp! that bliss of Love
is realised in tears, and Beauty
in the form-less.
Oh Sojourner of far-off lands! Shouldn’t thou
forget the tears of the Rose
that are invaluable jewels of life.
Hark! the Fragrance bemoans at the Stem!