Yuyutsu Sharma: April 2023

Thursday, April 27, 2023

Delighted to be featured in Italian poet and editor, Igor Costanzo's column in Bresciaoggi today!

Thursday, April 20, 2023

Mother's Day Poem from Yuyutsu Sharma's upcoming book, "In Lord's Messy Workplace: New Poems

My misgivings

Yuyutsu Sharma

Mother’s Day

I don’t have anything

to post on my wall today.

I see them debating

forgotten frontiers of humanity’s walk.

Lysol, Liberty, Languages

lighting lamps, banging plates

pranks to raise demons

from their hidden dungeons.

Mother’s Day.

I don’t have anything

to post today.

Only shady sketch

of my loud betrayals

slowly eating the innards

of my fast-fading body

where the Lord rests,

keeping a rigorous

record of my misgivings.

Saturday, April 1, 2023

Upcoming ALS SINGAPORE LIVE: EPISODE 3 focused on Lost Horoscope

Upcoming ALS SINGAPORE LIVE: EPISODE 3

focused on Lost Horoscope moderated by Alka Balain.

Link: https://www.facebook.com/asianliterarysociety
#asianliterarysociety #livesession #alssingapore #YuyutuSharma #losthoroscope

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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.