Tree
In my years of twilight understanding
I saw my mother
Planting saplings.
Mother said—
Saplings are the offspring of trees
They will grow to become
Father trees.
Sense dawned upon me
And the tangled mystery
Of the trees
Was untangled,
The earth is Mother and the trees are Father.
Father shelters
The children
Borne by Mother
Against the blows of storm,
And nourish them
With the colours of life.
The trees grow tall
In equal measure
To the depth
Their roots go down the earth.
Mother said—
Tall are those
As trees
Whose souls are rooted deep
In the womb of their mother;
Blessing for the mother Earth
Are fertile land and tall trees,
As men with healthy mind and healthy body
Are assets of the family.
Ever since the moment
We unravelled
The mystery of tree,
Nurtured we have
In the bosom of heart,
The pristine lovelore of
Earth and Tree.
It was Not to Happen So
It was to happen so-
On a moonlit night,
Thousands of Amaranthus will bloom
To adorn the lips,
A whiff of gentle breeze
Will carry
The fragrance of Bokul
Of dishevelled hair,
To the enchanting chorus of flocks of ducks
The drape will slip off
From the bosom of maiden Autumn
It was to happen so
The melody of Winter will
Come flowing
On the fringe of misty morning
And satiate
The wearied body
Sapped under
The heat of the Sun.
The goddess
Embodying creation, existence, learning, knowledge and energy
Will descend
From the wandering clouds
Of the blue.
The mind and the body will brighten up
Forgetting the drudgery of life.
Things didn't happen like that
The seasons lost their ways
Ever since the forest disappeared.
Burning smell all around-
The sky, the wind
And even the river is burning.
The sun is blazing
Sitting on the fork of
The naked tree.
The heat of wind
Is blowing out
The fire of hearth.
And the frigid bosom
Of the liver patient
Is burning.
It was not to happen so...
Translated by Nayan Jyoti Hazarika
Indu Barua is an Assamese poet based in Guwahati.
Nayan Jyoti Hazarika is an Assistant Professor, Department of English, Duliajan College, Assam.