Gedicht
Basudev Sunani
Satyabhama
Satyabhama
Chuckled on the window seat
Of the bus, and then
Hid her face
In her hands
Was she shy?
Satyabhama
Faint, dark, like a slate,
Forgotten.
How could she
Have been otherwise?
It’s two decades since
She was in class five
And I in two
In our village school.
On her cheek
The flush of self-confidence
To have learnt by rote
The alphabet.
Married to a dhoti-clad gentleman,
She is now in search
Of a suitable girl
For her son;
Persuaded by the villagers
She is now a candidate
In the local body election;
She said all this
Pressing her face
To the window-sill.
Satyabhama
Gives the feeling
Of someone intimate
Like the torn pages
Of an old book
From childhood
When eating porridge together
She taught me the art
Of sewing sal-leaf bowls.
There was nothing more
To share with Satyabhama.
By the time I was in class five
And she in class two
The bus had left.
I do not know
If I will meet her again.
If only I had had
A fleeting glimpse
Of her face.
© Translation: 2006, Rabindra K Swain
SATYABHAMA
© 2005, Basudev Sunani
From: Karadi Haata
Publisher: Eeshan-Ankit Prakashani, Nuapada
From: Karadi Haata
Publisher: Eeshan-Ankit Prakashani, Nuapada
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SATYABHAMA
From: Karadi Haata
Satyabhama
Satyabhama
Chuckled on the window seat
Of the bus, and then
Hid her face
In her hands
Was she shy?
Satyabhama
Faint, dark, like a slate,
Forgotten.
How could she
Have been otherwise?
It’s two decades since
She was in class five
And I in two
In our village school.
On her cheek
The flush of self-confidence
To have learnt by rote
The alphabet.
Married to a dhoti-clad gentleman,
She is now in search
Of a suitable girl
For her son;
Persuaded by the villagers
She is now a candidate
In the local body election;
She said all this
Pressing her face
To the window-sill.
Satyabhama
Gives the feeling
Of someone intimate
Like the torn pages
Of an old book
From childhood
When eating porridge together
She taught me the art
Of sewing sal-leaf bowls.
There was nothing more
To share with Satyabhama.
By the time I was in class five
And she in class two
The bus had left.
I do not know
If I will meet her again.
If only I had had
A fleeting glimpse
Of her face.
© 2006, Rabindra K Swain
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