By Sunil Sharma When I die, erase all the memories as I do not wish to linger on in few digital pictures stored in a Smartphone moments, moods, posed smiles of no immediate or historical worth, social value or public relevance to family or friend or foes; I wish to be forgotten and obliterated … Continue reading Will of a marginal writer
“A grass widower/lover writes”
By Sunil Sharma Even in your long absence--- I hear daily your musical voice! The multi-coloured jingle of the bangles And the silver anklets Your laughter lingers On summer nights. I smell the perfume you wear To your work daily. As I drift finally Into the land of beautiful gentle sleep After a long … Continue reading “A grass widower/lover writes”
“Flight”
By Sunil Sharma Wings tiny, wide-spread Against a crimson sky. Dark body dipping in/out Fluid dots spiraling out in a wavy series. A flight of pigeons going separately. The bird, joyous. Evening! Time to return home For the kids of the sky! Sunil Sharma is a college principal, freelance journalist, author and editor. Mumbai-based, he has … Continue reading “Flight”
“Madhouse”
By Sunil Sharma In a madhouse, the only sane are the insane the guys know/see things the normal are denied If there were no insane folks, how the world would measure its own diminishing sanity? The institutionalized soul was meditative: Why the mad politicians/terror-mongers outside? Sunil Sharma is a college principal, freelance journalist, author and … Continue reading “Madhouse”
“Interrogation of a cynical age”
By Sunil Sharma Where is the anger? Asks Jimmy Porter And where are the other angry men? Where is the next howl? Asks Ginsberg. And where is the scream? Asks Munch. Is madness passé? Asks Gogh, a bit disoriented. And where is my ambulance to drive in new hot spots? Asks Hemingway. They have … Continue reading “Interrogation of a cynical age”
“The Journey”
By Sunil Sharma I will take you to where moon is Or, other some such places where You hear the Amazon singing at her tenor full. The Niagara falling falling falling like tumbling$ Or: The ancient Nile being travelled by a young Cleopatra and Antony And recorded by the Bard for the King’s Men, … Continue reading “The Journey”
A rose and waste picker
By Sunil Sharma A rose blooms on a dump in Delhi It sways in the morning wind the way drunk girls sway and swear on the predatory Indian streets and restricted cultural zones to express happiness and freedom from stifling familial and patriarchal constraints In Mumbai and other metros on long Saturday nights. The morning light plays on the petals and … Continue reading A rose and waste picker
Succour, natural
By Sunil Sharma A rose or two, on a dump, sway in the Mumbai wind the light plays on the blood-red hues ---an aberration by nature, or so it seems--- to some cynics. The tender flowers can turn that smelly stretch into a colourful spot of brown earth. The solid waste generated by the urban folks running into … Continue reading Succour, natural
Academy of the Heart And Mind 