It was hard to believe the flesh was heavy on my back.
The fisherman said: Will you have her, carelessly,
trailing his nets and his nerves, as though his words
sanctified the purpose with which he faced himself.
I saw his white bone thrash his eyes.
I followed him across the sprawling sands,
my mind thumping in the flesh's sling.
Hope lay perhaps in burning the house I lived in.
Silence gripped my sleeves; his body clawed at the froth
his old nets had only dragged up from the seas.
In the flickering dark his hut opened like a wound.
The wind was I, and the days and nights before.
Palm fronds scratched my skin. Inside the shack
an oil lamp splayed the hours bunched to those walls.
Over and over the sticky soot crossed the space of my mind.
I heard him say: My daughter, she's just turned fifteen…
Feel her. I'll be back soon, your bus leaves at nine.
The sky fell on me, and a father's exhausted wile.
Long and lean, her years were cold as rubber.
She opened her wormy legs wide. I felt the hunger there,
the other one, the fish slithering, turning inside.
(Part-2) Perhaps this poem says the poverty striken fisherman uses his daughter to alleviate their poverty.But I totally disagree with him.
Jayanta Mahapatra, a prominent poet of international stature hails from my state Odisha.I find few comments on this poem.(Part-1)
Silence gripped my sleeves; his body clawed at the froth his old nets had only dragged up from the seas. great poem. tony
Thank you.., its help me in my study as well as in my extra knowledge. Its a very rough poem written by jyanta mahpatra which deals with the pain of poverty and how poor people face them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
(Part-3) Is poverty, the only cause that drives the fisherman to use his daughter for earning such a way? It is total callousness, total disregard for the individuality of the daughter.No love, no care, no responsibility, only self interest driven.