पृथ्वी माझी सुरू होते
जेव्हा जेथे असेन मी तेथे।
वर वर चढणारया नजरेत
गोल गोल क्षितिजे सामावत
उंच उंच हिमाद्रीच्या कड्यावर।
इथे अहंकराचे अस्थिर कड़े - सागर
वितळतात वाफारातात हरघडी
विरतात मातीत - अवकाशात
काळजातली उब पुरेशी
कवेत घ्यायला नविन क्षितिजे
हरघडी विस्तारते स्वत्व माझे
बंध मातीचा अटूट सामावत
सारी पृथ्वी भाकरीच्या चतकोरात
ओळख उरते धरतीच्या चतकोरात
(I take fantasy flights to the higher world of planets and stars and the lower world of bacteria in the virtual reality of print and electronic media, and return now and then to Mother Earth and ask, “Give me fistful grains of sanity for my survival”. — Remi)
by Remigius de Souza
My Earth begins here
From the soil below my feet
Wherever when I’m there.
Up ‘n up the vision ascending
Round ‘n round horizons holding
High ‘n high on Himalayas’ cliff.
Here, the ego of rumbling cliff – ocean
Dissolve – evaporate now and then
Vanish in the soil – in the air.
Enough is the warmth in heart
To embrace new horizons;
Expands my selfhood now and then.
Sound bond with the soil assimilates
Whole Earth in a quarter of a ‘roti’;
Recognition retained in a square foot
Soil below my feet.
* * *
(Translation from the original in Marathi by the author)
1. “Fistful of grain”: In my native village until fifty years ago there were no beggars. Only the mendicants, ascetics, sadhus came to the households asking for alms. They were offered at least a fistful of grains, no coins. There was not much of currency. Now, with the currency, there are rich as well as poor beggars everywhere.
2. ‘Roti’ is Indian flat bread baked on burnt clay or iron plate, usually concave in shape.
Remigius de Souza
May 1, 2007
© Remigius de Souza., All rights reserves.