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A few poems of Bornali Borgohain
The Noon
The man halted his move
As he came to steal a noon
And
Remained encaged
In the attachment
Of the noon instead
Having raised a searching outcry
He painted a picture called life
In the place he was standing
Translated from Assamese by Hemchandra Dutta
The flying thoughts
As I was flying
I could see
The trees flying
I saw the palaces,
Ups and downs of the
Hills and the plains
Flying too
One day I saw my dish
Moving in the dining table
I saw my garments moving
In fact I see my dreams
Dead or alive moving frequently
Which I cannot tie
With the rope made of the jute
In reality, all the pictures are
Stable and monotonous
I donot like to entertain such thoughts
I saw them flying
Kept myself flying
And kept on floating my thoughts
Anchored and exiled.
Translated from Assamese by Hemchandra Dutta
What else left to receive
What else left to receive?
I ask you, Krishnabarna
Despite all the stains of the sins shouldered
I am still sitting beside you
What else should I have searched
In the maze of hundreds of lights
I am losing my way
The opposite stream of the gait
Has made me restless
And allured
Let us start from this point
Being a restless wind
I have searched you, Krishnabarna
Tell me
What else left to receive ?
I am an ancient woman
Laden with garment of the peace
Tell me
How the saddened beams
Of the evening light
Can torture me ?
I am an ancient woman
To the core
A favorite of my husband
Sworn to orgy for seven lives
I donot know
What else to search for
The familiar faces seem to turn
Unfamiliar
Tend to forget my favorite subjects
With the flip of the moment
Have I lost my presence
Without my knowing of it?
Tell me
If the time eternal
Has lost its gait?
I am worried
As I have enough reasons to be so
This is not sufficient
Leaving aside innumerable arrows
Of queries
I ask you, Krishnabarna
What else is yet to be received
Translated from Assamese by Hemchandra Dutta
Water colour pictures
Was it here ?
I do repeatedly search
In a picture water colour
Feel for it
As if to find
A voice of my friend
The fingers doomed for ever
The king has sent the summon
….
Do the kings call us
The time only summons
In the picture smeared in water
Time extended its web
None of us lived together
We did not have any record
As to how and where we were flung apart
While turning the wet pages of memory
The seed vessel of the lotus
Does blossom in the tuft of the hair
Of Rajmau
Was here at this point
In the core of my heart
A spring of a tune?
…….
Rajmau : the mother of an Ahom king, here symbolizes epitome of tyranny
Translated from Assamese by Hemchandra Dutta
Battle
You know very well
It is not that easy
To fight a battle
The cloud is descending
Where it is fight or death
One said- this is our land
Another cried- this is our forest
Ten people shouted- land is our mother
O warrior
You know
what is the sorrow
of the people
that have lost their homes
Enlivened by the dreams
what value is of a plate of rice
Snatched away from a hungry mouth
You know very well
Its fight or death
when the dark smoke
come chasing in the form of demon
the war-band plays
when the flowing water is dammed
the war-band plays
why do people fight
is it that peace lie asleep
under the battle
or is it the food for starved people
Battle does not mean just battle
Battle does not mean only
Bows and arrows
Battle does not mean mere guns
Battle means one’s right
O warrior
I know
It is not that easy
To fight a battle
Translated from Assamese into English by Bibekananda Choudhury
Fireplay
Though the people were thinking
That was a game
Many thought it was a fire play
There’d be winners and losers in a game
Someone’s crown’d adorn someone else’s head
There’d be practice and gameplan
It’s just figth of breath against breath
Another group said
It was just a drama
In the role of hero and villain
People forgot that it was the truth
Or just a dramatic moment
I am not a mere spectator
I Know it is not even a game
Neither is a happy ending drama
I know
Everything doesn’t turn into ash on burning
I know
People name it fire play
Till the moment
It singes one’s own body.
Translated from Assamese into English by Bibekananda Choudhury
Fireplay
Though the people were thinking
That was a game
Many thought it was a fire play
There’d be winners and losers in a game
Someone’s crown’d adorn someone else’s head
There’d be practice and gameplan
It’s just figth of breath against breath
Another group said
It was just a drama
In the role of hero and villain
People forgot that it was the truth
Or just a dramatic moment
I am not a mere spectator
I Know it is not even a game
Neither is a happy ending drama
I know
Everything doesn’t turn into ash on burning
I know
People name it fire play
Till the moment
It singes one’s own body.
I don’t remember what followed
Because
She was just eight
And, I just about ten
Even now such girls called by the same name do get lost
Had they been always found like this!
If there’d be anyone to chide with a loving voice
Did you inform home?
If you hadn’t
Let me drop you home.
Translated from Assamese into English by Bibekananda Choudhury
WOMEN
Water do not have any colour like a Woman
Or is it that
Woman do not have any colour like water
I am woman
I do have colour- of my own
I do have dreams- of my own
To fly the kite of liking and dislikes
There is a sky
Loaded with the fruit of all possibilities
I am woman
Forebearer of three ages
I drop down turning into coloru
I soar up turning into smoke
How do you just call me
A mere bedmate
I am woman
Don’t contempt me with a defiling comparison
We do heve our own colour
A sky to paint up with brush
Translated from Assamese into English by Bibekananda Choudhury
About the poet :
Emergence of a powerful new voice, a voice of unending poetic journeys
Dr. Kamal Kumar Tanti
Assamese poetry is living entity, with its lyrics and traditions, emotions and reality, forms and experiments, and of course, the experiences of the decades of turbulent times. What makes Assamese poetry a force to be reckoned with is the presence of young voices, who while staying true to the tradition of Assamese poetry, dare to experiment with form and content, and be original.
Bornali Borgohain is one such young poet, who while working within the confines of contemporary Assamese poetry, shines through owing to her keen aesthetic sensibilities, her lyrical originality, her confidence and of course, her searing honesty. Like most young Assamese poets, she too is preoccupied with the images of land, rivers, roads, trees and birds, but the way she utilises these motifs or metaphors is her own. When she writes, “I believe myself to be a poet. So I write poetry…. The poems live where I live. I am never different from my poems. I am not separate from my own emotions. I am intact within myself.”; as a reader, I feel the urge to plunge headlong into the poems and feel the musings of the poet.
All poets start their poems with all enthusiasm and end them with all possible doubts and confusions, about how a reader will accept/reject it. Some take this process seriously, and they continue their poetic surveys into an unknown land, with a very different tune and voice. Bornali Borgohain is such a voice of unending poetic journeys, and a voice to watch out for.
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