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Haraprasad Paricha Patnaik
The Soiltary Self
That is perhaps the first meeting.
For calm appearance of the sea
that swallows layers of civilization
her words
only in her trembling top-like breasts.
She thinks
for the kitten waiting on window sill
stretched flat on its belly like the sunlight
the pregnant cow would turn
into a frightened mouse,
the dark clouds would come flying
into the folds of her eye
like my solitary self.
Have you heard
the stories of vague great men?
Red, the horizon
red like fresh blood, have you seen?
The echo of wind
from the breaking mast of a ship?
For the sorrow without anxiety
for the lotus of a rotten pond
for the lovely cloth of a familiar old lady
all the ecstasy,
folded desires
like a mirage of the sky
like a white dream
and very close to us.
Translated by the poet
Beside The River Mahanadi
Little above Mahanadi
like a holy man in white
the moon watches
even like a constable.
The clouds of a last spring
her sorrows, maybe
the crumbling ant-hills.
As the lonely bed of a princess
this cold sand
that both of you cannot warm.
Go near the old bony bridge
the train crawls slowly,
and the sensuous moments.
In the still, solitary afternoon
waves of illusion
embrace the hot sand.
Grazing, an old cow asks the age of the sand
against the cheerful green around
The water in her eyes lost in them.
Translated by the poet
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