Dance

The dance draws to its close,
wake up, O’ children, it is time to sing again,
to play and sport

Night sprawls
winding like a dark lane
and there drum beats echo
to the rhythm of tinkling anke-letter
Some sweet voice lulls
the thirsty consciousness to sleep;
touch seeks to touch of a body;
dream break; eyes look wine-red
with thirsty wishes yet unsated;
dreams drop and rip from
grape-red lips - this is the music
of thirst like a girls stripped bare.

Wake up, children; it is time
to be fulfilled.
Dream flutters unfurled
like the thin silk robe of a girl
like a screen on the window of the night:
Stars gleam on the blue pane of the sky,
The palace keeps dancing;
in the silence memory gets lost,
the past is only a lapse.

The dance hall is a vaoid now.
Children, wake up;
the least rhythm of th dance
is only an echo in the empty cup
smearing the dark shut of the night.

(Translated from Oriya by the poet)