I spoke the truth
So is the storm
A terrible storm.
So many daggers
Bombs and black-guns
Target me
From all around.
What can be done now?
May I hide in the cave?
Or
May I surrender at their feet?
No such is not written
In my fate.
Then?
Now
I may fire the missile
Of great truth!
As soon as it bursts
Must create a wonderful road!
For my grandson
Grandson's grandson.
Translated from Odia by
Subash Chandra Mohapatra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem