The Man On The Outskirts Poem by GOBINDA SAHOO

Original Odia: Pitambar Taria
English rendering: Gobinda Sahoo
Oh unredeemed man!
On the outskirts for thousand years
mingling like the rainwater from the eaves
is your life-history, minus address always,
to access the rice-history you have failed,
land-scripture, mathematics to obtain delight,
freeman's true literature
you could not read.
A mere lamp you turned only to burn
as some looted the luster of costumes
made of your blazing.

The day when tongue was cut-off,
hot oil swiftly into the ears poured,
both hands were sliced off,
the breasts of maiden, eyes of father uprooted
Has anyone lamented
or all these unlawful said?
Have they come back-
the business vessel from marine summit,
river stream, sweet village tune
or birds' chirrup of orchard?
Have they fallen - the master's crown,
queen's earring or anklet,
flag from the crest, from the ratnsvedi Jagannath,
were drenched Koili Baikuntha- the last resort,
or recital of the Vedas
did the promised love muster in the lappet of your tears
or your sorrows and pains taken away
No dear, inhibited for ages, as were you foot-born.

Ho Sanatana, get down from the truck,
Ho Untouchable, put off the bone-necklace,
from the cemetery come back,
I'll give you shadow-picture for head, lion's courage,
tricks for dissolution, a verbose necklace
I'll give for all-
a song of melody.

You but simply lift up your heads
unfold your hands,
seed of faith on the earth bury,
the fiery blooms you'll see
flowering from the revolting stem of bosom
the winged life relishing the fruit of inverse tree.
And then, you'll know what life is.

This river is but yours
Thirstful of water you can take
and some restless waves in palms save.
This sky is but yours
the granary of slumber you can fill
with nectarous dreams
and thousands of starry blooms.
To the eyes you can bring
the cerulean of distant horizon,
can make out the secrets of lunar-world,
the tune of rising sun,
of rains and enjoy the hues of spring.

This land is yours,
you too can harvest bliss and essence of soil
bartering your blood.
This country is yours,
and you can fill her chasms and abyss
With sacrificial bone, flesh and souls
to coronate the essence of power.

Build house now in the village
With the wattle of toil and drudge
from yard to heaven like coconut tree
thrive with star-kissing insignia.
You too are human beings.