In the green valley of my heart I am building a house of my own My childhood will play there In the front yard. Grandmother will tell tales Of a washerman carried away by a crocodile for telling lies And the tricks of a cowherd Who hoaxed the villagers twice Warning them of a tiger. I will sleep peacefully Listening to the tales of The faerie queen, Tejimola and Kamala Kunwari. My adolescence and youth Will come back confidently to re- assure. My heart will be overwhelmed by love, peace and faith. Trust will germinate in hearts From one generation to another. My old age will breathe freely Sharing the joy of germination. Air will circulate all around the house Being flames of fearlessness. Heart will resonate the words of the dear ones And a helping hand of the dear one will be stretched out. Sometimes a cropland withered long ago regenerates Drenched in a rain of memory. Time standing still in a corner Becomes all eloquent. Loneliness becomes company Tiredness gives way to energy. Thus a human heart shelters A house of its own silently Washed in blood and tears.
The Face behind the Mask
He is hungry There is hunger inside him Hunger in a myriad form And they clamour and protest. He steals and hoards What is due to a hungry million And wears a mask to hide behind it. Life changes hues As the face changes. Food , cloth and house are re-defined Garments change But they fail to hide nakedness.
[Translated by Ananda Bormudoi.]
Hemaprova Moran is an Assamese poet and writer based in Kakopathar, Tinsukia. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org