Yuyutsu Sharma: Pratik Spring 2018 Issue Released

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Pratik Spring 2018 Issue Released

Pratik
A Magazine of Contemporary Writing
Spring 2018

History & Poetry
The Making of The Tin Man By
David Austell

With All That Is Nepal
A Photo Tribute by American Photographer
Joni Kabana

Eight Chinese Poets
Jidi Majia Chen Si’An Duo Duo Xi Chuan
Zheng Xiaoqiong Yuan Yongping Li Yawei Shen Wei

Featuring
Sitakant Mahapatra, Tony Barnstone &
Jami Proctor Xu

Nine Young Nepali Poets :

Pramod Snehi Shyam Rimal Sahadev Poudel Padma Gautam ‘Punya Gautam Bishwas Keshav Silwal Bhuwan Thapaliya, Ramesh Shrestha & Arun Budhathoki

The Lifeblood of Consciousness, of Love and Loss: Stephen Massimilla on Ruth Danon‘s New Book, Limitless Tiny Boat

Plus all Regular Features

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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.