Yuyutsu Sharma: Milarepa’s Bones, Helambu 33 New Poems, Just Published from Nirala

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Milarepa’s Bones, Helambu 33 New Poems, Just Published from Nirala

Milarepa’s Bones, Helambu
33 New Poems
Yuyutsu RD Sharma
ISBN-81-8250-032-X 2012 Hard pp.82

Formed by 20th century South Asian and North American poetry movements and himself a verbal renewer of his country’s literature, Yuyutsu indefatigably writes along rivers and paths, mountains, valleys and villages, verse after verse…
Dr. Christoph Emmrich ,
South and Southeast Asian Buddhism at the University of Toronto.

2 comments:

UnknownJune 7, 2012 at 4:34 AM
handheld devices
your site is veru informative thank you
http://handheldforbillingdevices.blogspot.in/
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Elite-Palm-It-Solutions-PVT-LTD/300469306713237
https://twitter.com/#!/ElitePalm
ReplyDelete
Replies
Ram ChauhanMarch 10, 2019 at 11:39 PM
Impressive Projects and found that it is very useful.
SAFEALL Audio & Video Intercom Systems
ReplyDelete
Replies

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

From Yuyutsu Sharma's "The Lake Fewa & A Horse : Poems New"

Glacier

A hope

that someday I shall sprout

like a tree

on the edge of a remote hillside.

A hope

someday a Queen-of-the-Night

shall bloom in my chest

and suck all the smoke

I have inhaled

in these malignant cities.

A hope that someday

a just born brook shall clean

and wash

bacteria of greed in me.

A hope that someday

a Buddha meditating in the niche of a cairn

by the heap of the city

garbage shall shake his limbs

and walk away towards a village of eternity

to take another birth

to save me

from the shame of becoming a glacier.

River: Morning

Cruel river

knows each time

I come to brood

over her roaring waters

each time I come

to her deafening banks

to gleam my dreams

over the plump flanks of her warm body

each time I come

to pour last of my life’s salt

in the ringing gorges

of her sonorous frame,

a bone breaks

in my smoldering chest

and a wrinkle appears

across the shriveled leaf of my life.

River at Night

Dark night

I cannot see the river.

I can only

hear it thundering rumble.

A water well explodes

enamored in the fleshy

clutch of fluffy

clouds, making a cave of this gorge.

Only fingers of the fireflies

illuminate its shape, the wild limbs,

as the river fumbles

curled around the hefty thighs of the night

to find a wink of sleep.