Tuesday, June 1, 2021

"Mona Lisa's Drunk" featured in APWT /Joao-Roque Literary Journal

She tosses her pink cap onto my head and taking a sip of red wine from my cup bends to kiss my dark eyes.



Mona Lisa’s drunk
from the jasmine scent of her secret fish
drunk from
the magic fruit of her sex,
drunk and stoned
from reveries of hi-tech city’s space cakes.

Mona Lisa’s drunk
from her green eyes’ glamour
that open and kiss
quivering doors of the temple of my face.

Her skirt swirls 
in the cold colorless skies of Europe.

Her mysterious smile,
a succulent ploy, demanding 
forbidden touch on the crimson Cut
that denies and even divides the divine.

I mildly tug at her scarlet scarf,
wrapping it round my neck, dance,
holding her slender waist
along the shores of Northern Sea flooded
at this hour from goods
and god men from Asia.

Stars above speak
of a vanquished history of sails
eloquent as
Leonardo Da Vinci’s brush.

It’s here somewhere one time
mandalas of my defeats were drawn.
Along these shores Alexander’s horses laughed
and leered before beginning that sojourn into the heart of darkness.
Along these blue waters
I smell the gunpowder that once burst
the chest
of the Continent into blood-soaked fragments.

Years before my birth
it’s here somewhere that captors
of Mona Lisa
wrote her ambiguity and my future.

Today she’s drunk.
She drools over psychedelic visions of LSD and Ecstasy
spinning mysteriously
like a supernova in the embrace of infested stars.

“I live in a car,” she confides.
“I live on the blade of this city’s screaming sirens.
I survive on the endless night
in a squatted artists’ bar.
I dance on full moon’s face
all through the night’s eternal orgasm
till I melt and become one — cup and the bar.
My lips purple blue,
my eyes swollen like Aristophanes’ frogs,
blade of my sleek tongue,
my long leathery fish in my mouth
reeking of sulfa and exhausted sea shores.
I burgeon on the Hippie smoke of Sixties.
Spiritualists, Swamis and Surrealists have
masturbated white lotus of my slender body.
Dadaists and Beatles have sucked
salt of my soul for decades.
Buddhists have licked me clean
like stone pillow under sleeping Siddhartha’s neck.
Avant-Gardes have lain at my bed for years.
The Punk I taught flowers have fire in them.
I’ve been traveling now for decades
I’ve been to Amazon and Americas.
I’ve been on the Asian loop:
Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam,
Thailand, India, China.
I’ve plans to visit Tibet,
Kathmandu, Kandahar, Kabul, Kashmir.”

She tosses her pink cap onto my head
and taking a sip of red wine from my cup
bends to kiss my dark eyes.
“It’s your turn now,
Yu Yu, you man from Asia,
any moment I can pull a blanket
from my car and spreading it
like bejeweled sky
can go into a Tantric trance.

And maybe, maybe,
maybe tonight make love to you
on currents of Euro’s swelling tide.”

Yuyutsu Sharma is the recipient of fellowships and grants from the Rockefeller Foundation, Ireland Literature Exchange, Trubar Foundation, Slovenia, the Institute for the Translation of Hebrew Literature and the Foundation for the Production and Translation of Dutch Literature, and is a Himalayan poet and translator. He has published ten poetry collections. Half the year, he travels and reads all over the world and conducts creative writing workshops at various universities in North America and Europe but goes trekking in the Himalayas when back home. Currently, Yuyutsu Sharma edits, Pratik: A Quarterly Magazine of Contemporary Writing.


The banner image is by Filepe Vieira and downloaded from Unsplash.com

Tuesday, May 11, 2021

By the Ocean : A Poem for my Mother


By the Ocean


Above my rooftop

red bricks laced with green moss

topaz shine of Seven Sages

and galaxies of untouched dreams,

she rode the golden cart

pulled by Mahadev’s own

snow white bullocks…

From the delicate

arc of the thatched rooftop

she leapt like a stag

and stepped onto the main street.

‘Careful, Mata, careful,’

I pleaded, panic shriveled.

‘Look at her, how strong she is,

in spite of her age,’ I tell Shakti,

as we watch from the rooftop.

She gains poise, elongates

her gaze and saunters onto

the stretch of green fields

across the village…

Shaken by the drone

of the central heating boulder

I woke up, feeling

a sudden rush of the youthful energy

she spent with us and then left,

making me dream of her

in this strange steely island

by a sopping wet shore…

From A Blizzard in my Bones: New York Poems


Monday, May 3, 2021

From The God's Messy Workplace: "Outage" by Yuyutsu Sharma



Yuyutsu Sharma


I sleep

on the couch


of my living room,

eyes shut tight,


face turned

to the sky,


I fumble through

wide glassy window


and know when

the power returns


I will know

its arrival


even with

my eyes closed.



from God’s Messy Work Place: The 2020-21 Poems

Sunday, May 2, 2021

Yuyutsu Sharma featured at Antar Dwani program of Nepal Television !

Yuyutsu Sharma in conversation with Meenu Pokhrel at Nepal Television!

Youtube Link - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jf2hucuK7io

Friday, April 30, 2021

New Poem, "Spring : A Wild Beast" by Yuyutsu Sharma


Spring : A Wild Beast

Spring unfurls its blue ribbon.. -- Eduard Mörike

Yuyutsu Sharma


The cracked patch

of a clammy honeycomb comes


dripping out of a sobbing night

and clings to the frozen calf of my leg.


There’s a scent of spring

back again to dance in my nostrils,


its pungent air

suffused with a stinging odor


of a bonfire

of sandalwood, butter, sesame,


cinnamon and honey

aflame somewhere across


the icy rivers

of our shrunken canyons.


I leap out of the bed

and thump my foot to let it


fall off to the grassy ground,

homeless bees buzzing in slow motion


in the stabbing sunlight

of a wounded day in our  boorish republic.


Don’t panic, just keep quiet,

I whisper, seeing she’s about to scream.


They  mustn’t sense our fears,

the fright to live in a plague is to suffer


the fate of a bonded sex-worker,

to endure the inevitable,

and in silence surrender to lethal

pleasure of the demented Deities.


Each moment a hazard,

each day a fresher revelation


of the master’s disregard  of the corpses

piling up in newly-founded crematoriums.


I step out of the house

in the Himalayas to venture out


into our canyons aflame

from the flush of rhododendrons


tulips, primrose, cherry,

blue poppies, geraniums


and watch spring crouch

like a wild beast as it did a year ago


holding back the delight

to dance like a fat bumble bee


celebrating the arrival of

a succulent spring in our glistening valleys.


 From Yuyutsu Sharma's upcoming collection, In God's Messy Workplace.





Thursday, April 29, 2021

Upcoming first Zoom reading on May 1st, 2021 for the 2022 New York Writers Worshop

Upcoming first Zoom reading on May 1st, 2021 for the 2022 New York Writers Worship to coincide with First Himalayan Literature Festival to celebrate great Nepali poet, Gopal Prasad Rimal...

Saturday, April 17, 2021

A Morning Walk by Yuyutsu Sharma in Punjabi and Rajasthani


A Morning Walk

 Yuyutsu Sharma

Leaving behind

the bed of white lotus

and wheezing

partner of my sleep

I rushed out

toward the bridge

freshly built over

a golden stream.

But on finding

a funeral pyre

burning on its

emerald edge

I closed my eyes

and like some Buddha

in the dark interior

raised my shaking

invisible hands

to salute

the great master,



© Yuyutsu Sharma

 Punjabi Translatation @ Sunil Dutt &

 Rajasthani Translation @ Sumit Chaudhary


Tuesday, April 13, 2021

"Battling it" A Poem by Yuyutsu Sharma from "God's Messy Workplace: The 2020 Poems


Battling it


Ek din chadya tere rang varga...

--Shiv Kumar Batalvi, Punjabi Poet


Each moment an ambush

with the glistening buffalo rider racing amuck

in the nether world of my sleep


Each day a scuffle

with headless phantoms from

the blind caves of high hills

where a giant yeti awaits,

her hunger stretched wide open

to feed a million more plagues.


Nine months have passed,

nine fierce flicks of his giant eyelids,

the crashing of colossal waves

over thrumming  route of my wind pipe.


Nine months have passed,

nine months of so many misshapen regimes,

flying vampires scuttling over the faulty

horoscopes of this planet’s destiny

pouring torrents of molten tar

in the cobalt blue rivers of our joy.


Nine months have passed

and I resolve to walk again

against the mangled currents to reach

the favorite spots in my beloved city,

only to rush back home

shuddering from an erratic rush

of my breath unhinging my sturdy frame

inherited from my wrestler ancestors.


A sensation stirs in a corner

of my right lung and inflames

into an inferno of endless pain.


Have I fallen prey to its tentacles?

How did it happen? I ask.

Did it occur at the Grocery store

or in a city bus?  Couldn’t you

have waited a while,

looked for a cab

or simply walked to the spot?

Where was there this hurry?


It was about to rain;

cabs simple disappear during

rainy  hours  in Kathmandu?


So where you think you picked it up;

as you passed by Hanuman Shrine

near your place with devotees thronging it,

seeking strength  and salvation,

singing out loud, jamming the sidewalk?


Hasn’t  it finally grabbed you by the throat?

A mild rasping begins and gets stuck in the lungs,

a burning sensation blights down my spine,

the flame of my breath gets shredded,

like fragmented rainbow chunks

pulled from the sleek glistening

bodies of the patron serpents of the valley?


Breathless, I feel it loping down

the depths of my blood vessels.

I try restraint, try to tackle the impending

onslaught of an anxiety by meekly submitting

myself to its preferred sister, Sleep, 

to ward off its imminent arrival,

Lord’s  cudgel without a signal, or a sound,

only to wake up next morning to savor

a  full-blown loaf of a summer day

bouncing like your round face

in my courtyard dancing

with the music of  its sunny,

sprightly colors...

Ek din chadya tere rang varga...

 From Yuyutsu Sharma's  upcoming book,  God's Messy Workplace: The 2020 Poems


Monday, March 15, 2021

A lovely review of my Nepali collection by Raju Syami in the current issue of leading Nepali literary monthly, Madhuparka..



पानाहरू खाली छैनन् कविताका



 • राजु सायमी

विक्रमाव्द छयालीस सालको जनान्दोलन उत्कर्षमा रहेको समय सुरम्य उपत्यका पोखरामा एक अनपेक्षित दुर्घटना भयो, जसमा एउटी आन्दोलनकारी युवा विद्यार्थी सामूहिक बलात्कारको सिकार भइन् त्यसैको प्रतिक्रियास्वरुप एक कविले कविता लेखेर त्यतिबेलाको बहुचर्चित साप्ताहिक पत्रिकामा छपाए उक्त कवितासँगसँगै कवि पनि चर्चाको शिखर चुम्न सफल भए त्यस कविताले अधिकांश मानिसहरूलाई उद्वेलित , आन्दोलित आक्रोशित बनाए कवि थिए युयुत्सु आर डी शर्मा कविता थियो लक्ष्मी लेकाली त्यही समयावधिदेखि सबैको ध्यानाकर्षणमा रहेका कवि युयुत्सुको हालसालै ' पानाहरू खाली छन् ' शीर्षकीय कविता सञ्चयन प्रकाशनमा आएको सञ्चयनमा जम्माजम्मी एकाउन्न कविता रचनाहरू एकत्रित गरिएका छन्
विक्रमाव्द पचास सालको मध्यावधिताका कवि युयुत्सुसँग सम्पर्कित परिचित भएँ उनका मूलतः अङ्ग्रेजी भाषामा लिखित कविताहरूको अध्ययनबाट प्रभावित लाभान्वित पनि भएँ उनले अङ्ग्रेजी भाषामा प्रकाशित आफ्ना  कविताहरूलाई फुटकर रुपमा नेपाली भाषामा पुन:सिर्जना एवं अनुवाद गरे यस सञ्चयनको पाण्डुलिपि पढ्ने अवसर प्राप्त भएको थियो मलाई विशेषतः अङ्ग्रेजी भाषाका बलशाली कवि युयुत्सु नेपाली भाषाका पनि दक्ष कवि एवं अनुवादक  हुन् भन्दा अत्युक्ति नहोला
पहाडको अर्थ, खच्चरहरू, फुर्बाको यार्लिङ  ह्विटम्यानकी छोरी जस्ता चार शीर्षकमा विभक्त प्रस्तुत सङ्ग्रहको दह्रो अवस्थितिलाई अब भने उपेक्षा गर्न नसकिएला सङ्ग्रहित कविताहरूमध्ये भीमफेदी, बुध्द, मेरो जीवनको अन्तिम कविता, गोपालप्रसाद रिमाल, लक्ष्मी लेकाली, कथ्य कायाकल्प, लुम्बिनी, काजीदाइ, पहाडको अर्थखच्चरहरू, माने, पिता,पानाहरू खाली छन्, लन्डन बमवारी, ह्विटम्यानकी छोरी, न्युटाउन रक्तपातपछि एउटा प्रार्थनाजस्ता सशक्त कविताहरूको हस्तक्षेपलाई अवश्यमेव आत्मसात गर्नुपर्ला
व्यक्ति रामदास शर्माको जन्म भारतमा भएतापनि कवि युयुत्सु आर डी शर्माको जन्म भने भीमफेदी, मकवानपुरमा भएको हो उनका समुच्च प्रारम्भिक कविताहरूको जन्मभूमि भीमफेदी हो उनले पुस्तकका अघिल्ला पृष्ठहरूमा " हिमाली कवि हुनुको गौरव ' अन्तर्गत आफ्ना लेखकीय कथन भीमफेदी-नोष्टाल्जियाका रुपमा प्रस्तुत गरेका छन् यहीं कवि युयुत्सुका प्रारम्भिक कविताकृतिहरू ' प्रेयर इन डेलाइट ' ' हङ्गर अफ आवर हडल्ड हट्स ' तयार भएका थिए
नाइट सिफ्टको
फोहरी बोझ

उदाङ्गो सट्टापट्टा
नीलो बिहानी

हरिया लेकहरूका
अँध्यारा सुरुङहरूमा

रगत चुहाइरहेका
आँखाहरूका लागि,

उदाङ्गो सट्टापट्टा
हरिया सागका मुठाहरू

ताजा दूध दहीको

जाँड ओकलेका
गन्हाउने ओछ्यानहरूका लागि

उँघिरहेको पहाडी गाउँमा
जीवनभरिको रुग्ण मात

मात, त्यो मात
जसको अर्को नाम हो मृत्यु
भीमफेदी )
मेरो वाल्यकालका स्वर्णिम दिनहरू व्यतीत भएको स्थान पनि हो भीमफेदी, जहाँ हाम्रो पुर्ख्यौली घर थियो त्यसर्थ, मलाई भन्न मनलागेको -भीमफेदी फगत मदिरा होइन, भीमफेदी केवल मात होइन, भीमफेदी एउटा जीवन्त संस्कृति पनि हो भीमफेदी मात्र बस्ती-बजार होइन, भीमफेदी एउटा उन्नत सभ्यता पनि हो

तिमीले नदिएका चुम्बनहरू
उत्कृष्ट थिए

ती कविताहरू जुन मैले कहिल्यै लेखिनँ
उत्कृष्ट कविता )
साँच्चिकै उत्कृष्ट कविता यस्तै पो हुन्छ कि !
लघु एवं दीर्घ दुबै आकारका कविता लेखनमा खप्पिस मानिएका यी कविका अङ्ग्रेजी भाषामा लिखित-प्रकाशित कविता-कृतिहरू
थुप्रै छन् आगामी दिनमा उनीबाट नेपाली भाषामा अन्य कृतिहरूको अपेक्षा गर्नु अनुचित नठहरिएला !
व्यक्ति स्थान विशेषमा केन्द्रीत रहेर लेखिएका उनका कविताहरूमध्ये गोपालप्रसाद रिमाल, काजीदाइ, लुम्बिनी, एउटा अधुरो कविता - फेवाताल, स्पस केक : आम्सटर्डम, न्युटाउन रक्तपातपछि-एउटा प्रार्थना उल्लेखनीय छन् भन्नुपर्छ

 कवि-प्राध्यापकको अवतारमा विश्व भ्रमण  गरेका, विभिन्न अन्तर्राष्ट्रिय कविता मञ्चहरूमा आफ्नो ज्वाजल्यमान उपस्थिति जनाएकाकविताका विषयमा व्याख्यान दिएका, कथ्य कायाकल्प नामक साहित्यिक आन्दोलनका प्रवर्त्तकमध्ये एक रहेका तथा अङ्ग्रेजी भाषामा प्रकाशन हुने पत्रिका प्रतीकका सम्पादक  यी यायावर कविको कर्मभूमि काठमाडौं हो यसर्थ, उनको कलमबाट काठमाडौंउपर पनि केही रचनाहरू सिर्जित हुने कुरामा आशान्वित हुनुपर्ला
कवि युयुत्सु आर डी शर्माका सम्बन्धमा विश्वविख्यात कवि रोन्नी सोमेकले एक ठाउँमा भनेका छन् - युयुत्सु सगरमाथाका छेउमा बस्छन् उनको कविता हिमाल आरोहण गर्छ, नदीमा पौडन्छ झरिरहेको पातमा ताम्र रङ पोत्छ यो प्रकृतिसँगको नृत्योत्सव उनले एकै छिन झ्याल बन्द गर्दा पनि रोकिन्न
पुराना जर्जर चिन्तनको परित्याग, अदृश्य विम्ब प्रतीकहरूको मूर्त प्रयोग, प्रकृतिको सूक्ष्म अवलोकन, तिरस्कृत पक्षहरूको उजागर समर्थन, स्थान विशेषमा केन्द्रीकृत सुन्दर कविता लेखनलेखनमा चित्रकारिता, नौला एवं अनौठा विम्बहरूको बहुल प्रक्षेपण आदि कवि युयुत्सुका लेखन विशेषताहरू हुन् उनका यी कविताहरू अनिवार्य अध्ययन सामग्रीहरू बन्न पुगेका छन् भन्दा अतिशयोक्ति नहोला