Grandfather By Jayanta Mahapatra

Grandfather The yellowed diary’s notes whisper in vernacular. They sound the forgotten posture, the cramped cry that forces me to hear that …

Freedom By Jayanta Mahapatra

Freedom At times, as I watch, it seems as though my country’s body floats down somewhere on the river. Left alone, I …

Twilight By Jayanta Mahapatra

Twilight An orange flare lights the pale panes of the hospital in a final wish of daylight. It’s not yet dark. In …

The Vase By Jayanta Mahapatra

The Vase The strong south wind hits our faces again, it’s October; sunsets are fiery red and the waters of wells are …

Dhauli By Jayanta Mahapatra

Dhauli Afterwards when the wars of Kalinga were over, the fallow fields of Dhauli hid the blood-spilt butchered bodies. [originally ‘red-smeared voiceless …

Ash By Jayanta Mahapatra

Ash The substance that stirs in my palm could well be a dead man; no need to show surprise at the dizzy …

Sanskrit By Jayanta Mahapatra

Sanskrit Awaken them; they are knobs of sound that seem to melt and crumple up like some jellyfish of tropical seas, torn …

Hunger By Jayanta Mahapatra

Hunger It was hard to believe the flesh was heavy on my back. The fisherman said: Will you have her, carelessly, trailing …

Her Hand By Jayanta Mahapatra

Her Hand The little girl’s hand is made of darkness How will I hold it? The streetlamps hang like decapitated heads Blood …

Summer By Jayanta Mahapatra

Summer Not yet. Under the mango tree The cold ash of a deserted fire. Who needs the future? A ten-year-old girl combs …