पयोद - The Cloud

By Shivam Namdeo Shinde

रंगात पावसाच्या, रंगतो हा सर्द वारा,

मृग तरकांमधूनि, मृद्गंध योजणारा,

नभ चटतो भुईला, नयनी न मावणारा,

तितक्यात सर्ग होई, तिमिरात गर्द सारा,

मलयाचे रूप त्याचे, मदनास दे बहारा,

अससी तो क्रौञ्चवासी, असीमात दाटणारा,

निशिकांत भव्य रूप, निमिषात गर्जणारा,

उदकास सांडतो हा, उन्मेष, अभ्र न्यारा,

कधी दूत होतसे हा, कवी विरह भोगणारा,

राग कृष्णरूप भासे, राधेस छेडणारा,

हे बाष्प झेलणारा, हे रंध्र योजणारा,

मल-भार एक बोटी, महेंद्र गर्व हारा,

डोहास त्या शोभतो, डोक्यात घन पिसारा,

सौभाग्य द्विजवस्त्रा, सौदामिनीची धारा,

आरोह दे खट्याळ, आश्चर्य साधणारा,

'कोऱ्यास छेडसी का?', कोणी हे त्या विचारा,

तो दाटतो बरसतो, तो हारतो हरवतो,

तो टोचतो बोचतो, तो 'मी' न् मी 'तो' होतो,

हा खेळ उत्कटांचा, हारून पाहतो मी,

रोखून वादळांना, रोमांच थाटणारा.

English Translation

The Cloud

The breezing air is getting colored by the color of rain,

Which spreads musty smell that comes from the seasonal rains of Orion constellation,

The cloud, which does not fit into the eyes, is licking the land,

And out of sudden, the atmosphere becomes darker,

His form, like a 'sandalwood', is blooming the beauty,

He's the native of 'Kraunch', and spread into infinity, 

(Kraunch is one out  of Seven Ancient Indian Continent, today's Africa),

He is huge in shape, as if he is the groom of night, who's screaming with each blink,

He is an unique cloud, spilling very special water that can bloom,

Sometimes he becomes messenger, for the poet suffering from separation,

(a reference from Kalidas's Meghdoot),

Sometimes he seems like Krishna's melody (the dark one), who banters Radha,

The one, carrying all these vapor, and making ditches in between,

Is this mountain of cow dung, held on a single finger, who burst the ego of Mahendra (god Indra),

On the head of this mountain, the plumage of this cloud looks beautiful,

This mountain wore sacred cloth made with feathers of flying birds, and has the border of thunder,

He (the cloud) yells naughty, and creates wonders,

'Why does he play mischiefs with this blank (sky)?', someone shall ask him,

He gathers and falls, he loses and make someone loose too,

He hurts by tingling, he becomes me and I become him,

I loose myself watching this very passionate play,

That stops inner storms, and thrills me.

By Shivam Namdeo Shinde