Jayanta Mahapatra as a poet is one of time,
Time and its reflection,
Time passing by,
Time fleeting,
Waiting it not,
The morn
Breaking into
The ripples of silence,
The lotus opening,
The dawn,
The break of dawn
With the cock-crow
And the sun flashing,
The day speeding past
With the change in time,
The midday
Hot and humid
During the summertime
And life beating
Under the mango groves,
The shades of
The peepul and the bunyan trees,
The mud-built homes
Afire with the flames of heat,
The sun going down
And it is the twilight time
And the cow herds returning to
Their sheds
Against a picturesque
Glowing scene
And its backdrop,
The sun setting down
And it is the eve-time,
The silent evening descending upon
And it turning dark,
Enveloping within,
The bats starting to take
Their aeronautic
And acrobatic flights
And it is dark
To switch over to midnight darkness
To swing back again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem