The Glory Unsung Poem by Tarapada Mohapatra

Thou have never been kind to her
Oh God!
why always it is she alone to suffer.

She has painted her tiny fingers
with the dusky colors from the glowing horizon
her plaits of hair have been decorated
with the ever lasting fragrance of the rajanigandha
she has smeared her quivering lips
with the wet musk taken from the dawn
her every dream has been christened
with a new tomorrow of hopes
she was destined to grace as queen
the palatial holy abode of God

But alas!
her joys of spring have always been singed
with the gory heat of scorching summer
her songs have remained unsung for ages
the wrath of the raging tempest has silenced
the cuckoo perched on the avocado tree.

She can hear the drumming of the woodpeckers
the chirping silence of the evening birds
but Oh Lord why always it is she alone
to suffer, suffer and suffer.

May her sufferings be cleansed and purged
with the sacred water from the Ganges
May her chagrin and agonies be soothed
with thy touch and heavenly bliss.


My Lord give her the rights
to live with glory, pride and valour.