Author Archives: Sunil Sharma

About Sunil Sharma

Sunil Sharma is Principal at Bharat College – affiliated to University of Mumbai, Mumbai – at Badlapur, Mumbai Metropolitan Region, India. He is a bilingual critic, poet, literary interviewer, editor, translator, essayist and fiction writer. Some of his short stories and poems have already appeared, among others, in prestigious journals like: Hudson View (South Africa), Munyori, The Plebian Rag and the Bicycle Review (all three USA e-zines), Asia Writes; New Woman (Mumbai); Creative Saplings, Brown Critique and Kritya (Indian e-zines); the Seva Bharati Journal of English Studies (West Bengal), Indian Literature (of Sahitya Akademy, New Delhi), Labyrinth (Gwalior), Poets International (Bangalore), Contemporary Vibes (Chandigarh), Indian Journal of Post-colonial Literatures (Kerala) and Prosopisia (Ajmer). Some of his poems and shorts have been anthologized in national and international collections. Besides that, he is a freelance journalist in English. His areas of strength are Marxism, Literary Theory and Cultural Studies. His book on the Philosophy of the Novel – a Marxist Critique is already published and got a good response. His debut novel – The Minotaur – dealing with dominant ideologies and sociopolitical realities of the 20th century was also published from Jaipur (India) in 20009. The novel was released in South Africa in December, 2009. As a freelance, he has more than 1,000 news articles published in DK Plus, Times of India, Mumbai. His six short stories and the novel Minotaur are prescribed currently for the undergraduate classes under the Post-colonial Studies at the Clayton University, Morrow, Georgia, USA. He has also edited, along with Dr Jaydeep Sarangi, an anthology of shorts, The Editors’ Choice: Contemporary Short Stories in Indian English, published by Gnosis Publications, New Delhi, 2010. He is one of the editors for the NFJ (New Fiction Journal), an international journal devoted to the short stories. A collection of poems: Poetry amid the Golden Barrel Cacti was released in November-2011 from Authors Press, Delhi. He serves on many advisory boards of quality international literary and online journals. He can be contacted through email at: drsharma.sunil@gmail.com Special achievements: Featured in this encyclopedia: http://www.best-poems.net/editors/1329 Poet of the month at The HyperTexts: http://www.thehypertexts.com/Current_and_Back_Issues.htm

The cicada song

 

The forest vibrates

With a deep humming sound

That clearly overpowers the senses

Of the startled passers- by;

The loud buzz filters through the vertical thickets

Of gnarled trees,

Tall sentinels

Stripped and still,

In this time of the year,

On both sides of

The serpentine highway in the middle

Of the dull brown-coloured jungle;

The bleak landscape comes suddenly alive,

For the curious child, peeping out of the

Window of the pricey car, speeding up the sharp incline;

It is as if thousands of bees had been released abruptly

On the dry wood and parched-up plain, ceaselessly chorusing

In a long monotone that won’t subside,

The haunting orchestra being performed by the swarms of

The dog day cicadas that are

Invisible to human eye, but very persistent in their collective

Calls for their mates of the species,

That can be heard for a mile;

The music is so strange, and, loud,

Piercing the quiet of the mid-summer idyllic scene.

The Gentle Tread

 

A wind treads softly

On the golden carpet

Rolled out

Along the shoulders of the highway

Created deftly by the yellow leaves,

Exiting their old homes and leaving behind

The bare trees, near the gurgling river-side;

The way you walked into my home/heart once,

Decades ago, on a spring morn,

In a crowded suburb,

A demure figure still remembered,

Tender, calm, dreamy-eyed,

Treading softly,

Your silent presence being announced

By silver anklet-bells, very naughty,

And decorated in mustard, the dainty feet;

Your scented presence could be felt,

Like a fresh breath of cool air,

Circulating as a heady draught,

In a dark room

Shuttered for years!

 

 

Happy birthday Poetry

April is dedicated to you,
Dear Poetry,
This is first day of the cruel month,
When you are going to be toasted for
Your arrival and company on the global front
Through social media like the Facebook,
I wish you happy birthday,
Dear Muse to me and million others,
You have made my existential burden light
Through your sublime presence;
I salute you for uplifting me above the mundane
And showing me the strange realms with balming touch,
And pointing us to the rare vistas and hoary summits
Scaled by the likes of Shakespeare, Keats and Wordsworth;
Your words are cherished by hungry generations that want
To make this planet a better and livable world;
I invoke my goddess to guide me always to inspiring words
And to spread love and tolerance for my sisters and brothers
Of different tongues, faiths and colours!

Cotton tree

It stands out
Amid other trees,
Alone,
Distinguished,
In this season of
Some flowering,
Some totally bare trees;
Attracting attention of an alert
Passerby, instantly
To that white tree;
The fluffy pods
Looking like puffed-up ice-balls
Stuck up delicately,
On the brown rugged branches,
Like tempting candy;
The bright flowers,
Creating a falling stream
Of pure, soothing snow,
On this hot day of
Early summer,
Near the hectic Mumbai.

Natural Mother

A sparkling river,
Lazing winter sun;
Glistening green shoots
Of vegetables in
Neat rows of
Brown earth,
Sloping down
On the rugged bank
To the brim
Of the full river;
A fisherman
Fishing in his
Crude canoe,
Alone, small
On the gurgling waters;
Tall trees and sleepy song-birds
Forming a perfect mise-en-scene,
Profound tranquility around!
River,
Wide-bosomed, green,
Yet, bountiful—
A natural mother
To all.

The pain of a mermaid

A mermaid
I met in the
Busy street
Of Copenhagen,
Looking lovelorn;
You still there?
Waiting for the
Prince?
I ask a bit pained;
She looks dejected and
Utterly
Shell- shocked,
Against fading light,
And
As the noisy crowds surge around,
It is New Year eve, after all,
And everybody is in a hurry,
And folks are milling impatiently,
Outside large stores for
The multi-coloured
Tempting
Discounted wares,
The pining mermaid,
Invisible to all;
She says,
The poor creature,
Eyes innocent and wide,
I am lost, my dear,
And
Will not be found ever
Till you people,
The human species
Accept me as your own
And,
Not as the
Perpetual Other.

Special you

You are the pure air
That we breathe
To survive daily,
Every second of
Our complicated
Urban lives;
Your arching presence,
My dearest,
Soothes and
Makes all the
Bitter battles
Light,
And
Silent, though you are,
And not nearby, still
We do feel renewed
And buoyed
Through every fresh
Contact made with
A special guy like you;
My heart is a shrine,
O dear,
Where you reside.