After A Murder

When like one distracted
I scoured the ends of the dead city
harrying someone
no tell-tale blood stared me in the eye
even after such murder
only fear, doubt and misgivings
What may crop up, what wouldn’t.

In the park a few corpses talked
of bye-gone days
of the birth of civilization,
of death
the sky was singed
by their yellow exaltations

There was no song anywhere
no birds chirped at dawn and dusk
the vicious water had driven the people
to the tops of dykes
thinking thoughts green as trees
they talked of new homes
of another birth after birth
one by one we picked
the bits and bones of the past
the debris of dead mistakes

Some door somewhere may open
may be we will find a ladder
to lead us to the source
of the stream inside
even on our impugned thoughts will sprout
new blades and saplings.

             [ Translated by Pradip Acharya ]

 
The Hearth

The hearth has long been waiting for a match-stick.

On it
The shadows of people around with dampened gun-powder
Now seem like dried banana leaves
As if, that skeleton of fasting Buddha
Painstakingly waits for his final explosion of wisdom.

Painting darkness on its face, the empty hearth stands cold
No rice neither utensils to cook
With meals of tree leaves, the tribal children
Sit around the hearth to
Listen to fairy tales of milk-white rice.

Everyday, they cook rice in Lord Jagannath’s temple
Hills of rice and seas of soups...
From the hotels over the sea-beach flavour of boiled mutton
And the wind plays its symphonies on the empty hearth.

Over a dead tortoise brought by the sea
Some frenzied dogs and vultures fight
Spoiling the beauty of the sea-beach
Two street children licks the whiteness of rice.

Some people say, there will be a big earthquake
Until the things get topsy-turvy
The hearth waits in cold silence
Within it nest venomous snakes of indignation.

             [ Translated by Rituraj Kalita ]