O, How Shall I Behold The Statue? Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

O, how shall I behold the statue,
The golden statue that I have found,
How, how shall I the statue golden
But blacky-coated,
I do not know,
Whether it was polished so as to avoid
The commonly public gaze
Or grew it so living in the earth,
Into the mound of the olden bricks,
O, I don't know, I don't know!

Speak, speak you, history and histriography,
Dwelling in heritage sites of archaeology,
Speak you, speak you,
O, museums
About the statue, about the statue
That I have found, found
From the columns and racks
Of the fallen and dilapidated and mangled temples
Of the olden days, of yore,
Centuries old and like a mound!

A statue, a statue that I have found,
Blackly, but golden,
I do not know whether it was blackly-coated
Or was golden,
It grew so living in the dark,
Laden under,
Into the earthen mound,
The earth levelled,
But the statue arising from
When the foundation dug out
With a clink
When the spade falling over
And the digger picking up
Always in the search of.

Now aghast and awe-stricken I beholding the statue,
My statue, blackly from outside
But golden from inside,
Metally one made from pure gold,
Cast in
And I peeping into,
Who the makers were,
Who the possessors once were of it,
Who the priests,
How the temples housing them,
Those days of yore and bygone times!

Now say you, say you, how to keep my Krishna,
How to show it to the world,
How the statue golden,
How my Krishna,
Radha and Krishna, Krishna and Radha,
Radha-Radha, Krishna-Krishna,
The Consort Divine,
I have got my Krishna, my Krishna,
Now want I not anything more,
Just my Krishna!