Baban Chahande
Labour pains
The pangs of pain
which the clouds bear
Subside in a
moment when they shed.
They wander here
and there,
Like a bunch of novices
Copulating with
the winds.
But the mother in
throes
Her woes all over
the sky,
Dimly remembers
the time before she conceived.
Through lanes and
alleys she tramples
The bulge in her
belly,
To calm her
intense hunger
With a mere
handful.
When labour
begins, her head holds a load,
And her eyes, a
shadow of anxiety for food.
Under burning
skies and a hot, breathless wind
Rise the infant’s
first cries,
Saying: world, now
I see you for myself.
Thus she delivers,
and her hands
Set fiercely to
work again.
Like the clouds,
whose pangs
Take just a moment
to subside.
Translated by Kumar Ketkar and Priya Adarkar
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