The turquoise lake
that longs to belong to the ocean
trapped to see
dazzling face of the Everest.

The climbers from the world over
come to see their haggard faces
in the clear light of her crystal eyes
before facing the forehead of the Sky.

-Yuyutsu R. D. Sharma-



On the great Tibetian
salt route they meet me again

old forsaken friends…

On their faces fatigue
of a drunken sleep

their lives worn out,
their legs twisted, shaking

from carrying illustrious flags
of bleeding ascents.

Age long bells clinging
to them like festering wounds

beating notes
of slavery modernism brings:

cartons of Iceberg, mineral water
bottles, solar heaters, Chinese tiles,
tin cans, carom boards

sacks of rice and iodized salt
from plains of Nepal Terai.

Butterflies of
terraced fields know their names.

Singing brooks tempests
of their breathless climbs.

Traffic alert
and time-tested, their climb

dreams of posh peacocks

of secret religious war

of an ecologist‘s sterile semen

entire kitchen
for a cocktail party at basecamp

defunct development
agenda of guilty donors

the West‘s weird visions
lusting for an instant purge.

Stone steps
of mountains embossed

on their drugged brains,
like lines of aborted love

on the historic rocks of waterspouts.

Starry skies
of the dozing valleys know

the ache
of their secret sweat.

Sunny days
along the crystal rivers

of their bleeding eyes.

Greatest fiction
of the struggling lives lost,

like real mules
clattering their hooves on the flagstones,

in circling
the cruel grandeur

of bloody thirsty
mule paths around the glacial of Annapurnas.

-Yuyutsu R. D. Sharma-


Way to Helambu

On the way to Helambu
tall columns
of the killing kilns
of Bhaktapur
against the shimmering snows
of Mukut
of Ganesh Himal
grey plumes
of poisonous smoke
a rattle snake
in green terraces
of light
stadiums of delight.

-Yuyutsu R. D. Sharma-