Dance Of Odissi & Other Poems Poem by Pratap Kumar Dash

2. The Dance of Oḍiśī
The classic treatise of transcending art and lives,
Leveling an antique journey of Odyssey to be displayed in vibes.
Saluting mother earth, the spirit of art takes the form,
Then slowly evolves onto a lotus blossom-
Beauty of curvature in the creeping layers;
Glow of flowery streams in the braid of hairs;
Movement of the speaking eyes,
Presenting the myths of love and brevity;
The rhythmic movements telling the Evolution in a gestured clarity.
The embroidery of henna in hands attuned to the moments of fragrance;
The singing-soaring hymn together into the realm of trance.
With the Sambalpuri saris tricking the stories of Odia culture and history,
The damsels dance to give the square stance mystery.
The crescendo of mardals enchanting the twisting movements,
Heighten the aesthetic relish with delightments.
The uncoiling alley of contortions
As if committed to elevating the art of spirit onto liberation.
3. Village Drama
After a hectic schedule of a day under the scorching sun—
The cattle; the family matters; and caring the paddy fields all alone.
Murmured the village lad, ‘I need little rest after the moth hour.
It may be on the porch or veranda or in the backyard or somewhere.'
A nap or may be slumber in painful summer nights!
But alas, the sound of dialogues and music and fights!
Irresistible echoes of rehearsal!
The voice of kings and knights; queens and ministers; or the fool
The prompting and argument—‘Is it climax or reversal? '
Songs of the brave; prayers and prologues— all coarse
And may be hoarse ….but for that no remorse
Because emotion flooded; bewitching belongingness;
After all, the village drama is to be staged.
The power of Warren Hastings or vigorous Bhima;
Diplomat Nārada or Rāvan, the self-conceited;
Or with the full spirit of a despotic king—
‘Ha ha ha….nefarious, you'll be hanged to death singing.'
May be a romantic duet of the rustic youth;
Or a cozy queen; a tricky minister or a brave patriot—all couth,
For every reason, the drama is to be staged better—
Full-blooded, and successful as a character.
No night or midnight; no plight or respite,
The drama is to be staged in the village field outright.
On the annual arrival of mother earth- the saviour of the earthly built.
‘I must go and do myself up because the village drama is to be full of spirit.'
4. In the Asylum
The soft chamber of the most valuable wealths;
Treasury under the hardened skully tomb;
That can explode more powerfully than atom bomb.
The realm of heaven and hell;
The assets of the artists excel.
Distorted, twisted, or damaged!
Is it madness maddened?
The child giggles; the young fizzles;
Smiles and cries; shout and lout;
Talks of philosophy—all absurd and false astute.
‘Yesterday he was creative, but today fag;
Yesterday he was in the retrace, but today in tag! '
‘He was sportive and she was active,
But nothing happens now as that is defective.'
The world of insane and the sane in the world,
Make all the difference as their words herald.
Body without mind and mind without body;
Body without body when mind is in malady.
5. Because I have a Stick!
Because I have a stick,
I can beat you; thrash you till it breaks into tattering scraps.
Bit by bit, fully scattered tit bit.
I can whip you all the way to follow my song;
Make you stand in one leg or alms for me to beg;
Step by step, I can chase you while you running away frightened.
I am really powerful with a stick although I know one day it'll break.
I feel a stick is a scepter, my protector or so to say the justice of rupture—
A lathi for the criminal of my dream to capture.
Then you have to stand before me;
Hands folded, bound to be guilty;
And say, ‘..Sir…yes sir….ye..sirrr…'
Then you have to understand whatever I say.
Whether they are twisted or thwarted all the way.
You have to respond to me, explain to me.
Although getting exhausted and
Make your life and swipe at bay.
Because you're a servant, or even a slave
To be beaten to your grave or more than that so to say.
Because I'm your master and I've a stick,
I can trick you to stickyphobia with insomnia
By whamming my master mania,
Make you creative and active
By tuning you up to the aesthetics of fear;
Never allow you to think and at least smear—
You're a vehicle, and my stick your gear.
You've to think only lining my thoughts for sure.
Infringe my words into your mouth fraught,
Despite I have been brought up and being taught
That one day I will be in the time's snare caught.

6. Cy-borg
The coiling and uncoiling of the inmost senses
In the denses finally treaded into the dark pit,
To find out the light of life with a greater flight—
The world was made with water in the tap; air flip flap.
Fire in the lighter can make dark night brighter.
Passion became the fashion in the altered illusion.
The first horror appears— the spirit of the sphinx,
A steeping civilization on the brink!
The creeping bloomings shrink.
All stumble at the point of interception
Between passionate life but cooling strife;
Between the life of civilization and civilization of life.
The crux and cogent— man and machine
Interwoven to form a Frankenstein,
Or much better a cyborg, a species for the coming century;
Not an alien but a product of the humans
A new form and meaning
Fading away from the views and voices of Nature's shrilling.
7. The Pleasure of Milking
Do you think the daily chore was going to school and doing homework?
No, not at all.
Every morning and afternoon bring straw and grass from the stalk
To give it to our cow; to cut grass from our backyard as well as from the hillock nearby
To become happy looking at more of fresh grass around-
Only to give it to our cows.
To go to the rice mill, get the sacks of paddy turn into rice.
‘No, rice is not the only attraction--- husks too.'
Collecting husks in another gunny sack
Only to give it to our cows.
Being happy to look at the fresh green leaves in the fence;
And seasoned with making friendship with the local Napoleon- the street bull.
Invite him to our yard at the right time to meet
Only my cow and then she gives birth to a cute patchy browny calf.
To play with it in order to be closer to my cow;
To pat it variously; and sit with her many times talking;
Something that we can only understand.
To look for both of them at times missing in the local forest,
While coming back with the herd in the evening---
All these only to get ‘drops of milk', and nothing else.
Once she starts milking, it's full of pleasure and only pleasure.