ନରେନ୍ଦ୍ର କୁମାର ଭୋଇଙ୍କ ‘ଧୁନ୍ଦୁକୁଡ଼ା’ ସମକାଳୀନ ଓଡ଼ିଆ କାବ୍ୟ ସାହିତ୍ୟରେ ଏକ ସ୍ପର୍ଦ୍ଧିତ ଉଚ୍ଚାରଣ । ଭାଷା ଓ ପ୍ରକାଶଭଙ୍ଗୀର ପରିଚ୍ଛନ୍ନତା, ତୀକ୍ଷ୍ଣ ଚିତ୍ରକଳ୍ପ ସହିତ ଆଜିର ମଣିଷର ନିଃସଙ୍ଗତା ଓ ଅସହାୟତାର ପରିପ୍ରକାଶ ଏ ସଂକଳନକୁ କରିଛି ସାର୍ଥକ ଓ ସ୍ମରଣୀୟ ।

— ଗଣେଶ୍ୱର ମିଶ୍ର

ପ୍ରାକ୍ତନ ସଭାପତି, ଓଡ଼ିଶା ସାହିତ୍ୟ ଏକାଡେମୀ

I am thrilled as well as a little hesitant to venture into the realm of publishing my first English language poetry compilation. It is like taking my first baby step. The compilation ‘Dust in the storm’ is simple as well as philosophical. It has altogether thirty-two poems representing the different stops on the journey of my life. They are the manifestation of my dreams and aspirations, encompassing memories from childhood and my life in adulthood. I have always believed that poetry is one of the best and most powerful medium to express even mundane things with profundity, in few words. It is never easy to write something sublime and thought provoking with brevity; but poetry allows such direct communication. This is the beauty of poetry. I appreciate life and am always in awe of this beautiful world. This is the reason my poems are full of optimism even when its subjects are complex. Topics like love, sleep, and death, though common, may not have similar impact on all people. I hope to share my stories with you through this book. The poems: ‘Death’, ‘Me and My Mirror’, ‘The Solitary Walk’, ‘Ode to Sleep’, ‘A Call’, ‘The Spirits’- are philosophical in nature. ‘Realisation’ and ‘Ode to Unrequited Love’ are about my dreams and quests. Some poems fall in the category of nostalgia, like- ‘The Tamarind Tree’, ‘Ode to loneliness’; while some explore my deep bond with nature. Nature is God’s manifestation. It is not only beautiful but also very mysterious. It has always acted like a healer for me; imbuing me with sublime serenity and inspiration. My visit to Kailash Mansarovar further strengthened this bond; it not only humbled me, but changed my perspective on life. ‘My Basket is Full’speaks about this experience. I do not boast that these poems are literary marvels. Nor would I like you to read them in that spirit. Rather, these poems are just me depicting my pleasures, dreams and uncertainties in a way that makes me happy. I hope you enjoy them and my simple words can inspire you to share your stories as well. : Abha Kala IRS

Waters wander, withheld from their appointed abyss. The firmament is smeared with counterfeit constellations. Love is ledgered like lucre, its measure mistaken for its meaning. Tomes totter upon neglected shelves, revered in name yet unread in truth. Birth is boxed in symmetrical prison; breath is chilled into sterilized frost. Serenity is simulated into unceasing cycle, a pallid parody of peace. Faith fumbles beneath ceilings of smoke, incense rising not to heaven but to wire-born idols. Poverty is pixelated into pleas pressed flat as parchment, their plight preserved yet powerless. Hope huddles in rusted recesses, beauty battling with the slow sabre of decay. Romance rots in embalmed effigies, preserved beyond passion’s pulse. Desire is

drained before it may deepen. Endeavour escalates into emptiness, ascent without arrival. Reflection refracts into falsehood, the visage shown not the visage known. Solutions stalk the shadows of uncalled-for ills; implements idle without invocation. Flames bid their final benediction in tongues only the abyss may read Bonds burn to blackened thread. Music is muted before its meaning may mature. Night drifts untethered. Pain guards the blossom as much as it wounds. Charts guide into chaos, their compass turned toward mirage. Trumpets of truth are trammelled into stillness. Vessels betray their vow to contain. Roads are paved with relics of ruin. Touch is withheld till thirst consumes. Eyes avert the appeal of need. Trees turn treacherous, forsaking the root. Monuments mutter in the mute tongue of stone. Clouds clutch their rain in cruel covenant. Heat hardens to stone; ardor ossifies. Frames gaze without grasp. Words wander away from the wound they might heal. The day’s edge is a breath before being. Flesh is but the borrowed raiment of spirit. Decay hums her dirges over dormant steel. Time wearies of weighing itself. Nostalgia is sold in counterfeit stills. Light lures yet leaves, while truth stains the soul in sovereign seal. Beauty breaks blacktop with stubborn verdure. Books bear their burden past their beauty’s bloom. Faces wave in silence to the shadows of history. Clouds rehearse their rains before release. Empty vaults are venerated. Words are swallowed to spare the storm. Walls wear the guise of might yet crumble beneath touch. Men meander, divorced from domain. Sands script and unscript within the same sigh. Desire devours without digesting. Missives voyage toward morrows unmanifest. Black pinions bind the burden of centuries. The air bruises beneath the march of machines. Patience abideth at the banks, awaiting the pilgrim’s plunge. Waters withhold their benediction. The denied dead keep vigil. Light lingers though it hides. Flame strains before surrender.

Growth is guarded from its necessary grind. The beach returns relics of plunder. Truth resists sealing, slipping the grasp. Faith freezes mid-foundation. Depth is proffered yet proves hollow. Small sounds are sentinels of unseen hope. Dreams sharpen their peril in shadow. Private tides trouble their keepers. Beauty blooms briefly in extinction’s embrace. Wounds are witnessed yet untouched. Distance is maintained for the illusion of peace. Each breath is an invisible bond to the Infinite. Captivity coos in the cadence of comfort. Wood whispers of the wild whence it was wrenched. Stone sleeps beneath the river’s patient scour. Sound returns reduced, the echo a ghost estranged from its origin.

“Eka Prajapatira Mrutyu” is a lyrical long poem by poet Dr. Dinabandhu Sahoo, who is a doctor by profession and a poet and painter by passion. There are illustrations to support each poem. All the illustrations are done by the poet himself.