Well is not hale. -By Bananee Satapathy At my village entrance, Like a thirsty bird it stands For months and years together Begging from the rain, some drops of water, That is no one of whom I tell, Once endeared, now abandoned well. We the persons, Use this well often, Once for our life, Now we dump all dirt and rotten. We all ungrateful in nature, Then here the village girls gather To whisper and For precious water. The well prays, ‘I tolerate the sun’s ray, But I prefer not to say, Silently I want to try To wash all the sins of they, Who just die’. The well thus narrates, ‘I bear the mound on my chest, Full of all your waste, I never differentiate Between the worst and the best. To reduce your grief I do not hesitate. For me the pilgrims and the pilgrimage Bear the equal weight age. I always live, All your dumps, I am ready to receive. I shall not refuse To accept all your abuse. I am still the well, You may tell, I am nothing but the hale. ‘I shall turn like The drops of dew, You shall be able To preciously view’. (Translated by Debadarshi Nayak)
Posted on: Sat, 25 Jan 2014 03:10:51 +0000
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