Odia

Identified as Odia,
I tend to fie my Odia.

In feasts, in fasts, in festivals,
I flaunt my fumbling Odia.

I pick a book and cannot say
The words are even Odia.

I zig and zag angular shapes
To write the round-round Odia.

I croak corrupt colloquial
And pass it off as Odia.

She blinks when I am blinking at
Her idioms in Odia.

She challenges my English rant –
“Now say the same in Odia.”

She feels she’s failed as mother,
Tongue tut-tutting at my Odia.

Her name of “handful songs” deserves
A ghazal glazed in Odia.

At least, for all she’s done for you,
Go, Misra, thank in Odia.