Epic Poem: DEVDOOT THE ANGEL (An excerpt from Canto-1) – SUDHAKAR GAIDHANI / Translated from Marathi into English by Prof. Dr. Om Biyani (India)

Epic Poem
(An excerpt from Canto-1)
Listen, there is no return of abandoned breath,
nor any stopping of breath till death.
With the tempestuous winds the sky is in floodtide
no trace of shores on any side.
Out there in the waters of the lake
trees are rustling in embrace.
think of the tree’s generosity;
all its life it provides shade;
dry bark and twigs supply fuel;
the timber makes windows, doors and sills.
So if you mean well
dispose your body through your will.
Live beyond death,
flying from one branch to another
that your bones may serve as beams
of a new house.
For fun’s sake sharpshoot
but dying speak the truth.
He that mounts a pyre
or is lowered into the earth
no more sees light.
When the mourning is done
they all dine and say,
“We can’t swallow a bite.”
Everybody sings
hymns to himself –
and kneels before a donkey,
having no help.
A limping cat
makes valiant rats.
we keep an account of the hurts we receive;
we need to count also the blows we deal –
Though he’s not a close kin
at the final goodbye’
separation moves us
and stings the eye.
lend a shoulder to your predecessor –
may this tradition prosper.
Leaves will fall,
leaves will sprout-
that one tomorrow
this one now.
Throughout life we fight
for winning birthrights;
we are obliged also
to accept death.
The wise don’t submit to death
hike tame victims of time.
If you show spirit
the killer cannot strike.
A generation is a crop,
while reaping comes the mood to sow fresh seeds.
Grains are buried in the earth –
from their tombs the sprouts raise their heads.
That’s why I say, friends,
dear friends,
that before grief torments your heart
pluck out my feathers quickly.
Here is my will and testament:
don’t embalm these feathers,
nor frame them like pictures.
Give them away rather –
but don’t offer them to the fluteplayer30
there are others already in his crown.
Give them away
to babies whom birth has trapped in a puzzle,
to children who are born-we don’t even know-
to toys or to toil.
In all such homes
deliver my feathers, don’t fail.
Come on now, disarm me, cut off my wings,
and distribute my feathers, my body
to all clamouring creatures –
distribute them
to all clamouring creatures …
This epic poem original in Marathi language consists of 555 pages and 5 cantos.
(Major portion of this epic poem is translated Into English by global poet Vishwas Vaidya and from English into Romanian, Italian, Russian, Polish, Macedonian, Spanish, Tamil and Hindi
by noted global poets.)

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