Assamese poem by Revered poet Nabakanta Baruah

 Here prevailed a River

Assamese poem by Revered poet Nabakanta Baruah
English translation by Dr Bipul Kumar Baruah.

Demeanor of paddy-field I have witnessed, where floody river is culprit
Have seen the scene of burial of
Offsprings of harvests done by slits.
Have heard the soothing elegy of graveyard abandoned by
Flood of Indus after embazzling
A city within a blinking of eye.
Excited addiction of ruining
Crooked overmuch daring of coveting
Jovial play of traps
Ugly lingerie of sins
The beauty therein composed
Network of dream
As I valued nightmares too
In dignity of dreams
He too a captivated solar particle
That commenced shearing the
Hard womb of the Earth.
But the desert arrives
In a slow pace over months
Years as well
A Kapou orchid in the hollow of pepul tree falls premature
Stealthily mops those tints
To the extent of green and golden
And draws a coppery sky
And an ashen grey Earth.
Reducing a river into a oozing stream
A spring into a stony place
Makes tombs of flora with dunes of sand.
Like a flash a dragonfly in search of water flying over heaps of sand
Loses its route somewhere.
Thus approaches desert slowly
In months, in years and so on...
This time Aghun, the harvesting month comes to the far away blue village earlier in Ahin, the autumn month.
Will Bohag's, the spring month's
Shower and flow not come up?
Will the shoal of white fishes
Advancing against the flood
Not make the spring silvery
This time ?
Gloomy clouds of Ashar, the rainy month get remained in the other slope of hill.
Hill is so high. Is it higher than
Is it taller than love?
And rain?
Millets like jowar and bajra
Do not grow in our paddyfield
In our forests no dat palm trees
Only euphorbia will bloom
Midnight stars will scatter its
Pollens and eggs and give them to
Dubori grass will be overpowered
By thorny herbs.
Night breeze will scatter there dry ice.
Daylight will pour their orange-hued hot melting iron.
Followed by shadow of camel neck , long neck of camel
Will sleep reducing into bones for ocean.
Get lost in this way
Here is romance of demise
It's ectacy of an aged woman
indulging in sporting with an
inexperienced teenager
Where no insatiability of slander is there
No disturbances of contentment prevail
No beauty of devastation
Mere murkiness of erosion
Easy intake
Sole neuterity.
Can sand wind build sculptures in hills?
It begets only havoc.
If romance exists there also
Keep it aside O' Lifeforce
I need no shelter there.
Making newer altars
I am getting exhausted.

Post a Comment