A Poet Of Relationship; Jayanta Mahapatra Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

A poet of relationship, Jayanta talking about the roots of nativity,
Where was he born,
Where did he grow up,
What the things of personal and impersonal attachment?

The lonely countryside where the wind plays with
Noonday dreams, loos and dry leaves
In utter summer
When the sun burns as a hot ball of fire,
Blazes the earth,
Dust swirls,
The sun burns and blazes,
The flakes of fire fall upon,
Sizzling heat and its fire-embers,
He sits by the peepul tree,
The banyan tree to ruminate and mark,
The mango orchards shading against
Heat and dust,
How life dull and dreary,
Slow and unpassable
When time hangs heavy
In the manless and secluded dark hamlet,
Where nothing to do,
Nothing to accomplish.

Orissa cannot be Orissa if the Oryia history, art and culture,
Thought and tradition are not understaood,
Oriya life, style, philosophy,
Heritage, legacy and the folktales,
The myths of the land,
Oriya geography, cartography and demography
Are not taken into consideration,
Orissa cannot be Orissa if we understand it not
What it marauds the self of it,
What it ails the dark daughters
Be they the devadasis, sevadasis or nautch girls
Devoted and dedicated to the temples
In the name of blind faith and classicism,
But faith remains it not,
Keeps dwindling and swaying.

A poet of Oriya roots and nativity, trend and tradition,
He is a poet of Orissa, Puri, Bhubaneswar, Cuttack,
The rivers and the mountains of it,
The sea beaches and the tourist centres,
Picnic spots,
Tiger reserves, bird sanctuaries,
Wild life conservation,
He sees the vast seas in their scapes,
Fishermen as the riders to the sea
Going at the call of and daring into
As for the stomach
And the vast multitudes of people lost
In their daily humdrum of life,
Hand to mouth, wage-earning
Apart from the poor and humble daughters
Trafficked and sold,
Entered into flesh trade
Which is but the hunger of the flesh,
None trying to understand
The tears falling from the eyes of those lovely daughters,
So poor and humble and serving.

The rains continuing on and the rites too going on the sea beach
And in the temples,
Prayers are doing the rounds at noonday
While on the other the pyrs are lit,
Somewhere panda-danas going,
Somewhere the asthi-kalashas being immersed into
The holy waters,
The Puri temple stands it thereon
Adjacent to the sea beach,
The sun flashing over the Konark Sun-temple,
The wheel of time revolving,
The time hand ticking,
Cosmic and mechanical,
A world dottefd and punctuated by
Sunrises, dawnbreaks, noondays, twilights,
Sunsets, evefalls, nightfalls and lonely midnights.