Sometimes the words too

Commit suicide and die

When they do not

Get oxygen like human beings.

Dr. Bhawani Shankar Nial, a renowned poet from Odisha state of India, shares his poetry

Internationally acclaimed poet Dr. Bhawani Shankar Nial was born on 6th July 1968 in Kalahandi district, Odisha state of India. He is also a Human Rights Activist having worked all over India. He has worked as National Convenor of many organizations, and is founder of many social, political and cultural organizations. Originally, he is an Odia poet, side by side he wrote in Hindi. He published three anthologies in Odia, two in Hindi (Unpublished), two anthologies in English (Lockdown and an Encounter with Death) published, and the same will also be published in Italian and Spanish languages by the year end. He is the Editor of magazines ‘The Surjya’, ‘The Kalahandi Express’, and ‘The Bande Kalahandi’, the Chief Editor of ‘Mahuri’, a Literary Magazine of the State of Odisha. He is the Chairman of Mahuri Award started since 2008 to felicitate those who have a great role in contemporary literature.

His poems have been translated into 20 languages including English, Italian, Russian, Serbian, Chinese, French, Polish, Arabic, Albanian, Philippines Vietnamese, Urdu, Bengali etc. Dr. Bhawani Shankar Nial had joined World Poetry Day Italy 2021 and World Poetry Meet France 2021. He got International Awards like International Ambassador for Peace by WLFPHR, Bhuttan; Global Peace Ambassador by Iqra Foundation, India; Global Star Award by Global Footprint, Bangladesh; Police Material Art Award by South Korea; Literary Luminaries Award-2021 by School of Art and Poetry, Nizeria; Doctorate Confer by Maxican Morocco Cultural & Humanitarian Alliance.

His two poetry collection ‘Lockdown’ and ‘An Encounter with Death’ had been published by Blue Rose Publication London and New Delhi and An International Poetry Review named Tapestry of Words by one Greek Prof Irene Doura-Kavadia published by Writers International Edition Athens and Mysore India Bring attention In Global Literary Platform.

WORDS ARE DESTINED TO DIE

Sometimes it happens

Like this

That the words that

Crop-up in the garden

Of my daughter ladle out

Greenery in literature,

Or

Brings a bitter cold

In the environment

Or

Brings a change against

The undemocratic decision

Of the Government

Or

Bring famine and

Destroy all the possessions

Of centuries.

It’s quite natural that

Words may bring changes

In seasons

But

Sometimes the words too

Commit suicide and die

When they do not

Get oxygen like human beings

When their own people

Do not have any bonding

More or less.

(Original Odia – “Sabda ku bi Maribaku Pade”)

(Translated by Dr. Tapan Kumar Rath – India)

***

EYE’S EARTH AND I

It was not so easy

To free oneself

From the earth in her eye

Where there sunk

The great water falls,

The deep woods,

The cliffs and islands

Blue skies, concealed

Lakes and dews

On the morning grass.

Of course

It was not so easy

To leave the familiar

Foes and friends,

Gods and demons

And even the aliens.

 

Though I’m able to

Escape from her eye

And the earth in it

I left there

The horrible experiences

Of the wars,

The successful stories

Of love and

The art of living

With a meagre income.

 

I’m also away from

The silence that

Leads me to salvation.

(Original Odia – “Akshira Prithvi”)

(Translated by Dr. Tapan Kumar Rath – India)

***

I HAVE TO DIE ONE DAY

I was in sheer oblivion

As to

I have to die

At an auspicious hour,

For stuck I was

In the tangles

Of household life

Of ephemeral affairs.

 

A pious realm,

No less than my mother land

Where I was born

And earned

Many a name and defame,

Where I have to die

Searching

And selecting time,

But, alas! I have forgotten

Of my doom,

Getting stuck

With mundane mire.

 

Meanwhile

There came

For meeting

Some beloveds

Of mine,

Old and new as well;

Some displayed

Their attractive figure

And attire,

The other with

The articulations on

The philosophy and

Definition of life;

The mystery

Of birth and death.

 

Soon after

Their departure

There appeared

My friends and foes

Rather quite familiar;

My days got devoured

With their discourse

And directions

On confronting life’s

New challenges

And affairs…

 

Thus dwindling

Were my seconds, hours

And aeons

Of my mundane

And ascetic life;

Eventually oblivious

I was of my death

At an auspicious hour

Before you all…

***

FIRE

It was not the fire

Of hunger

That hardly aware

Of how the day

Follows the night.

 

It was not the fire

Of greed for power

That breaks

Or restores the laws

Time and again;

That outlaws

The rules, regulations

Even the

Legislature

And Parliament.

 

It was not my fire

Of allurements

That lures me

Sometimes something,

Even enticing me

In my oblivion towards

Desert, verdancy

Royal palace

And valley of famine.

 

It was not the fire

Beneath the belly

But something

That hardly differentiates

Time, day, month, space

Fortune, misfortune;

May be a conflagration

That can annihilate

All the materialistic pursuits:

Palace, empire

The rich, the poor

And their

Ceaseless dream;

May be the inferno

That devours

Love, hatred

Even time:

The past, present

And future.

 

The fire… fire:

Ignites

The inner world

And

The outer world.

Fire… Fire… Fire

(Translated by Bankim Mund)

_____________

Received from Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator