Sunday Poem: The Song
These days you sing
At almost every gathering
And I follow you shamelessly.
I breathlessly drink your voice
Its shape, texture and tone
With an abandon
That sometimes shocks even me.
Perhaps you do not know
That before I come
To listen to you
I take off
All the noise around me.
I find my way back
After the abandon of your songs
Through my very own
Lost track to home.
These songs are enough to forget
The history of your memories
For the resolution of the defects
In my horoscope.
They are as dense and close
As the excitement of the claps
Occasioned by your songs.
Even I had left home one day
Thinking that I too
Will learn to sing.
I really do not know how
But I was back home
The next afternoon
Having caught
The first train in the morning.
When I hear your songs these days
It seems as if
I am offering you a glass of chilled water
After having glimpsed
The bareness of your hands.
When I hear your songs these days
It seems as if
There is a staircase
Going up till the sky
On which I am straining hard
To go and harvest the moon
On a new moon night.
Thus, please keep on singing
I am there, always,
Invisible
To frame the visions.
I keep on clapping shamelessly
In the breathless abandon
Of the visions
Not induced by your songs.
(The poet originally written in Odia by Bharat Majhi has been translated into English by Sailen Routray)
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