Sudipta Mishra, Puri, 28 September 2024
I don’t know the fool’s word,
I don’t even know the wisest man’s words;
My words are chosen
from the engima of silence!
I only know the words of mortals,
I know the fluttering words that ooze from the souls of innocent ones,
Those are veiled
inside the teary eyes of a poor man!
I daily decode the unspoken words
Of a destitute woman
Who hates to bargain her flesh!
I don’t know the words of a priest
That is flown to the open air and sometimes melted in the mist.
I don’t want to know the words beneath the chanting of sages,
In the pilgrimage of an unknown land!
I don’t want to trace the words of wisdom;
I only desire to know the pain embedded in her complaining voice.
I want to learn the words beyond my reach!
Many voices are silenced;
I want to traverse their paths and
Let their muffled voices adorn my poems!
My words will echo the grief of the voiceless ones
By crossing the barriers of iron walls!
My words will be the carrier of the immortal messages of deceased ones!
My words will be the wings of freedom for oppressed birds!
They will be beyond the constraints of time,
Crossing the limits of birth, death and rebirth!
My sharp words will tear the chest of the wild sea
In the deep, dark, silent hours of those nights!
My words will shatter the cloud of fearful dreams!
My language will stretch beyond the borders of any nation!
My words shall be the harbinger of truth and eternity
For conquering hearts!
