FLY

Original : Assamese : Guna Moran

Translation : Bibekananda Choudhury

 

Anything rotting

Titillates the nostrils of the fly

 

As it hovers over the rotten things

We move away in a hurry

Covering our face

 

Whenever any little thing happens in the locality

The news reaches a certain class of flies

 

Just because of the curse of being unable to keep mouths shut

Their secret news gets broadcast widely

 

Actually flies are social reformers

They allow us to keep away from rotten things

ROOT

Original : Assamese : Guna Moran

Translation : Bibekananda Choudhury

 

ONE

The water of the well

increases

As the water level of the river

increases

 

Root of water

TWO

I touch the feet of my father

Every day

In a pair of eyes

Bounty of dewdrops

 

Root of tears

 

THREE

I smile

As you do

Cry

When you do

 

Root of feelings

 

FOUR

These days

I could neither sleep not take food

Suffering from fever

 

In my pain

Mother too having sleepless nights

 

Root of soul

 

FIVE

As the roots grow

The twigs and leaves grow twice as much

Green smile of the budding leaves

Contributed by root

 

VULTURE

Original : Assamese : Guna Moran

Translation : Bibekananda Choudhury

 

I cannot cry

Neither I actually do

At someone’s death

 

My teardrops are exhausted long back

By crying

 

I watch from far

The crying kins of deceases

 

Can’t go near to give them solace

 

Many understand my reluctance wrongly

I too am unable to show

My history of heat

Like tearing apart a arecanut

 

The relatives grieved in sorrow

Leaving aside the work of carrying the corpse to the crematorium

Turns to be an epitome of hundred virtues

One after another

 

After becoming title-holder of hundred virtues

They too transform into

A vulture

Like me

 

 

One thought on “Poems by Guna Moran

  1. Thank you so much sir.Feeling blessed.

    On Mon, Sep 2, 2019, 10:14 PM Academy of the Heart And Mind wrote:

    > academyoftheheartandmind posted: “FLY Original : Assamese : Guna Moran > Translation : Bibekananda Choudhury Anything rotting Titillates the > nostrils of the fly As it hovers over the rotten things We move away in a > hurry Covering our face Whenever any little ” >

    Like

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