BIRD

The other day we divided our mother  
Chhotu claimed seven months  
And I took five.  

Though the slave of summer and rain  
Destroys the bird's home,  
Though winter's silent lover  
Lays out the dead morning,  
Alas!  
A bird  
Ties the voice of relationship  
Holds back tears,  
Does not plunder anyone's beauty  
Nor squanders anyone's happiness  
Does not pile burning coals  
On some happy family  
At times keeps flying high in the mind's sky  
And at others in the deep depths of the soul  

Neither any bloodshed for mother  
Nor stabbings for wealth  
Alas!  
A bird goes on singing  
For its lost lover.  

That day  
We lit father's funeral pyre  
Chhotu took the plot of land  
And I the house,  
That very day we divided our mother.  
  

Translation :
Jayanta Mahapatra