By Guna Moran

A rock can only be made smaller
By beating and hitting
Can never be made larger

Rocks are generally homeless
They lay everywhere

Run over by vehicles
Rocks do not get flattened
Passersby stamp on them repeatedly
Not even the epidermis is damaged

Struck by hammer
Rocks turn smaller and tinier
Even after that we term it hard and ruthless

Rocks for benevolence
Rocks are immortal—never aging
Because they can turn themselves smaller immediately
(benevolent never die)

Time-winning aesthetic is impossible sans sculpture
In every era the rock sculpture stands best
Still we find it hard to accept
The eternal rock is the ever spreading glory of mankind

(Translated from Assamese by Bibekananda Choudhury)


Guna Moran is an Assamese poet and critic. His poems have been published in various international magazines, journals, webzines, and anthologies. He lives in Assam, India.

 

Also by Guna Moran: “Mother”