Suhashini Tonight Poem by GOBINDA SAHOO

Original Odia: Pitambar Taria
English rendering: Gobinda Sahoo

The dry river of this hour adjoining the ocean
the next hour to a beautiful freshet turn,
so is a woman- Suhashini,
who sings always of the life divine,
And husband-
the God of temple- she recites
in the asylum of twinges.

In the abode of faith and reliance
sometimes gray and green at times,
in the ledger of dominion
of water or blaze
And what else is she!
Sandwiched amidst the shores
of compassion and anger
a mere boat she remains.

The northern cloud that floated over one day
humming vernal song, the cuckoo had told-
But remained the mango tree
courting friendship in sweet noon with golden oriole
on soil, she signaled bashfulness,
Could Suhashini remember the day
when under the frock her girlhood gone astray!
What else is she beyond a woman
amidst wishes and helplessness!

Like the footprints many on time's beach erased
forgetting the past in the scarce land of illusion
a new floweret would have bloomed again,
from the veiled sky
like dewdrops be falling her moisten dreams
and soaking wet the land of long run fate of a wife
And as Husband is but God!
Forgetting dates of blames, disgrace and humiliation many,
trailing and pursuing she will be
seeking her husband's compassion and sympathy.

Like a tamed myna in the adorned golden cage
with the palms of solace
Suhashini
wiping out the pair of icicle tears
would have dreamt of spending tonight in all good
As husband is but God!
The pain of last night's lash on cheeks
might have been erased.

Keeping aside the whole world
where does she store
so much honeyed smile
on the yard of plight is known not
Suhashini is but the last woman of grief and angst.

Today itself,
the evening would have made her preoccupied
To forget past the eclipsed moon has said,
scarce is the abyss of hell in the death land-
the spring air might have told,
Suhashini would have felt the sensation in nipples
Who else and why will others know all these secrets!


Shall Suhashini build
a lively home of questions in hundreds
on the foundation of flush of torture
on her shores of lips will rise untimely passion
will permeate like the summer of thousand years
the vice of nether world and muddy scriptures of deception.
Can she make a fiery trident
in the alphabets of eyes
And hang on her bosom replacing
a heated oil painting
of a fearless divine prerogative.

Why is the sand of river so indifferent
at tonight's passage
scattered are someone's earrings and anklets,
witness of blood and someone's corpse
on death's signature,
Isn't it Suhashini's!


N.B.: Written on the death of Suhashini, a village woman of Mahakalpada region in Odisha, who was axed to death by her husband.