The EtcherMy fame was your love,I thought it was my due.You came down on your own,I thought I had summoned you!

Electric light took me acrossThe darkness that was doomed.The light drew me into the forestTo the den of the dacoits.

Moonlight must have writhed in pain! –As clouds had hemmed in the moon.Even your dream had cheated me,What to do, it was already morn.

Colours of your picture didn’t fadeYou’d lovingly painted on my heart.Even sculptors of tomorrow would sayThat ‘Rudra’ was an etcher, not a poet.

These are two poems by Late Shri Ramgopal Sharma ‘Rudra’ (1 Nov 1912 – 19 Aug 1991), a lesser known poet from Bihar, who had taught me as a Hindi teacher in a Patna school. Here are two of his poems, translated by me, submitted as a tribute to his memory.Shri ‘Rudra’ worked as a translator in the State Rajbhasha Department. He was better known in the literary circle in Bihar and as one who could draw tears by singing his poems in public poetic meets, in a melodious voice. His poetry is rich in textural quality, and marked by an intense lyricality. He died a tragic death by getting entangled in a roadside live electric wire as he was returning home on his bicycle on a dark night.