It’s a daunting task that needs to be done. And done with precision, it may retain its meaning.
No one wants to do it. Rendition is tough. In a way, paradoxical. One has to pay attention to so many things that the essential is at risk. Moreover, it should flow well like a mountain spring swishing smoothly into a sea. But in this arduous journey, clarity shouldn’t be lost. But it does get lost. It gets drowned and later washes up on some far-off shore, waiting to be rendered.
How would one translate six hundred six refugees in a sinking boat? Who would take them—the sea or the shore? Who is the better editor of human sorrows?
People prove to be indifferent, occupied as they are with their own pain and pathos. The sea seems friendly on the other hand. It embraces them, filling the white foams with prose and poetry. Too many of them, different size, font, meaning.
Rendition is done. Now waiting for publication.