Jayanta Mahapatra Poems
|4.||Of that Love||3/22/2017|
|6.||A Grey Haze Over the Ricefields||3/22/2017|
|7.||A Missing Person||3/22/2017|
|9.||Deaths in Orissa||3/22/2017|
|11.||The Indian Way||12/27/2013|
|13.||Main Temple Street||12/27/2013|
|14.||The Moon Moments||12/27/2013|
|15.||Taste For Tomorrow||12/27/2013|
|16.||The Captive Air Of Chandipur-On-Sea||12/27/2013|
|20.||A Rain Of Rites||12/27/2013|
|21.||A Summer Poem||12/27/2013|
|23.||Dawn At Puri||12/27/2013|
The little girl's hand is made of darkness
How will I hold it?
The streetlamps hang like decapitated heads
Blood opens that terrible door between us
The wide mouth of the country is clamped in pain
while its body writhes on its bed of nails
This little girl has just her raped body
for me to reach her
The weight of my guilt is unable
to overcome my resistance to hug her
A Rain Of Rites
Sometims a rain comes
slowly across the sky, that turns
upon its grey cloud, breaking away into light
before it reaches its objective.
The rain I have known and traded all this life
is thrown like kelp on the beach.
Like some shape of conscience I cannot look at,
a malignant purpose is a nun's eye.