NAMITA RANI PANDA

NAMITA RANI PANDA

The Banyan Tree

The banyan tree that stands upright in my garden

With a green crown like a queen

Stands steadfast, splendid and stronger

Like me rooted firmly to the soil

With so many aerial prop roots

As I'm rooted to my family and friends

In spite of limitless trials and turmoil.

I too am the queen of my kingdom,

Though my feet, at every step, are chained with irrational customs and traditions.

The leaves, large, leathery, glossy and green,

The young ones with a reddish tinge

Inhale tirelessly the breezy wind

To fan the tired travellers and quench others' hunger.

Each moment and every ounce of strength

I spent and burn for their comfort and contentment.

The tree bears without any complaint

Scorching summer, chilly winter and heavy shower,

But keeps ever ready for others a cool shady bower.

People pelt stones at it with selfish intention,

But it gifts them with figs and showers affection.

In stress and strain, I remain cool and stubborn

And keep smiling in spite of unbearable pain,

Both blame and praise are my priceless gain

As their comfort is my life's sole aim.

We both know our freedom and limitations,

So, we never stretch arms to touch the sky

As we know it's too vast and high.

We are born to live and die for others,

To give only, with no expectations, is our only pleasure.

So, at night we silently look at the twinkling stars

To summon strength to scatter selflessly rays of love forever!

The Deadliest Wildfire

Grandpa used to tell, "You're a son,

Never feel deserted and forlorn

I may not be with you forever,

So, read and write and make pen your never-failing companion

Better learn to be your own sun."

I'm now a hapless orphan

My grandpa being reduced to a heap of blazing amber in an explosion

My fate is lifeless like his burnt carcass

And my hope reduced to a heap of ash

The deadliest wildfire of hunger

The treacherous terror that torture

Like the impenetrable suffocating smoke from forest fire

Blurred my vision

And strangled my conscience

I had no other options

Than accepting the offer of holding a gun.

Who cares for shelter and love when fire ravages the belly,

When dreams are shattered like the broken pieces of glass,

And the whole existence crumbles like a castle of cards!

A belly full square of meal they give

And I preferred to be their white slave.

In the game of give and take

I never bothered who's the loser

And who's the winner,

Even I never opposed their decision

When the mother within me was crushed mercilessly before it could bloom

I live with no gloom

Better no future generation to suffer

To be born to burn and wreathe in the deadliest fire of hunger.

You can say I am utterly selfish and cruel

That I sealed the future of future

But as said by my grandpa

I am a sun, a ball of fire,

I burn ceaselessly, you can only see my glare.

But, have you ever thought of how much the sun suffers?

Never!

Unless you yourself are engulfed in this deadliest wildfire ever!

A Day At Bajipur

I

Serene Morning

In the morning walk in winter I am mesmerized by her enticing beauty

As if just out of pond a newlywed bride in her sweet twenty,

The mark of vermilion on her forehead is the crimson sun

Peeping through the transparent foggy veil of chiffon,

Drops of dews dripping from her wet green cloth of Bija and pine.

The early morning prayer “Bande Matram, Sujalam Suphalam”

fills the air with the fragrance of love for one’s motherland,

The air around her smells of corn flower, so fresh and intoxicating,

The beautiful tall and long series of hills that touch the sky

are the outline of her lovely curves to entice the passers-by.

The wavy rice field stretching to the horizon is her veil’s golden border

That dances alluringly, as she moves elegantly, to the tune of the morning air,

The green canopy is her aanchal so cool and fair.

She looks so calm, peaceful and full of rapture

And passes by gracefully humming with the birds her melodious prayer.

Her lap is a haven for all plants and creatures:

Creepers with no hesitation entwine around the trees,

Monkeys chatter and jump from branch to branch holding their babies,

Cows munch leisurely looking at the sky with their listless dreamy eyes,

Birds sit and hover around them working their ways,

The sleepy village at the distance yawns wreathes of smoke.

She is really the greatest painter’s superb master stroke!

The soft blue dust rises with the touch of my foot fall

I return rejuvenated with a heart full of happiness enough to be enthralled forever.

II

A Game of Chess

My hot tea seems colder than the newspaper

As blood trickles from the hearts of wounded words

Through the pages I can see the contour of her mournful face

Crying bitterly holding in her lap countless carcasses.

A tug of war continues between her children,

Publicly they never hesitate to wash their ugly and dirty linen.

They derive endless pleasure by throwing dirt at one another

Being utterly indifferent to the suffering of their hapless mother,

She suffocates as the air smells of the pungent gun powder

In the sky, throughout the day, hovers the helicopter

The buzzing outshines her cry, though heart wrenching and bitter

Every precaution is taken for her security and comfort with utmost care:

Tight security at checkpoints, with sniffers and bomb detectors, ever active and alert,

Still she shivers, suffers and feels utterly insecure.

The brilliant brains move their dices with utmost caution,

Their kings, queens, rooks, bishops, knights and pawns

On the chess board with checks of green and brown,

Checkmate one another in camouflaged uniforms

While their loving mother is torn in between her sons,

Who play the game of chess using their selfish intentions?

III

A New Rise

There is no fear in the air,

The atmosphere is cool and fair,

The offices and schools are open,

The buses briskly as usual run,

The widows and orphans can’t but be happy with the compensation

The merciless media masked as compassionate companions

Go on scratching her suppurating sore like hungry howls and hawks up to their gratification.

Her two eyes look like lakes of limitless loss

But children in uniform proudly pray in chorus

“Hami Nava Yug Ki Nayi Bharati Nayi Aarati”:

(We represent a new era, we’re the new lyrics of freedom,

the new sunrise, the new moon rise, we’re the new rise!)

With pride boldly they pledge, “India is my country,

All Indians are my brothers and sisters, I love my country…”

Its echo in the air dispels, to a great extent, her deep-rooted despair.

IV

Stains of Pain

The stains of blood on her bosom remain fresh and open

She lies wounded, splashed with red blood with the rays of the setting sun,

The wounds of bullets on her tender limbs are ignored and left unhealed

By her own barbarous children her fortune is being cruelly sealed,

She’s a hell for hopes, a living ill-fated curse

Once a heavenly haven she’s now a horrible Hades.

Number of hapless children increases in the ashrams,

The perennial rivers of tear roll down the sunken cheeks of the aging parents,

The hollowed eyes of the widows look blankly at the distant dark sky,

The irrevocable deep voids in their hearts never bid them good bye.

V

An Aroma of a Fresh Hope

Her moaning tears the bosom of the eerie dark night

That fills one’s heart with endless fright

but the prayer from the ashram, “ Itni shakti mujhe dena data ki manka bishwas kamjor na hona……”

(Give us so much strength, O Lord, that the faith in our hearts never wavers)

Reverberates in every corner: the hills and forests and the river,

The aroma of a fresh hope fills the air,

She sleeps peacefully with a blue blanket jaded with shining stars

With a dream in her teary eyes to rise at a serene dawn.

NAMITA RANI PANDA

Mrs NAMITA RANI PANDA is a poet, story writer and translator from Sambalpur district of Odisha, India. She now works as Vice-Principal of Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya, Cuttack under the Ministry of HRD, Deptt. of School Education and Literacy, Govt. of India. Her three published Anthologies of poems are Blue Butterflies, Rippling Feelings and A Slice of Sky. Her signature words are love, optimism and self-confidence.  The main themes of her concerns are social injustices, love and other issues related to life. She is an active member of Cosmic Crew, a literary group of women poets in Odisha working with the motto “My pen for the world.”