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Clade Song 4


By the Door of my Sleep


I have been on
the move since, monasteries,

sarais, schools,

on the banks of raging rivers

blue canyons
with Spiny Babblers singing

mule paths
of bleeding porters

base camps
of delight dancing

over the chests
of famished glaciers

without birds

bus stops
without wandering lunatics

with roofs squeaking from the weight

of pack rats,
their garbage,

their junk food
and the West Village orgies,

Florida condos choked
from the odor of sea food

and impending menopauses,

toilet seats
across the continents

holes in the ground,
seats forged in the branches

of rhododendrons,
wild boars roving

amuck below,
ready to pounce

and clean up
the mess in a minute,

ceramic cells
of Super gurus,

cosmic farts
of New Age gods

monastery looking
toilets with Krishna

idols gawking,
freezing you with

a remorse
of a lifetime.

French, English, Canadian,

toilet paper rolls,
my only clue

to the well-being
of my hosts,

Amsterdam cats

one night stands

Frankfurt waterbeds,
Paris ateliers romancing

endless blow-jobs,
couples kissing

midnight in
Ljubljana train station

where James Joyce
once spent his coldest night

in a rough place by the Northern sea

in silence in Yosemite

in the American keys

in Aspen gondolas

meditations along
the Alps on self annihilation,

cursing ex-partners
in Maribor, watching

80s Bollywood
movies in Den Hague all night long,

cruising along
the bog lands, spreading palms

over Raths
in Yeats’ green glades,

moving in
gum boots over the prairies

in search
of power points

to feel
a tangible tingling

of Celtic souls,
a dark river with bog waters

flowing by
the doors of your sleep

while on the sandy patches
of the shores facing the Atlantic ocean

brown seals
lie, basking in a posture

of time off that only
a Himalayan priest can feign…


I may see it this time
coming on a familiar shore

a sheltered bay
or some windy quay

an anonymous wharf
a numbered subway station

a shopping Mall
of some steely city

I might see it coming
again through muggy air

of a New Found Land
and see it hit me

like a Viking spear
or betrayal of a beloved one.

It may come
this time to pluck an oval egg

of my sweltering soul
to turn it into a dry twig,

clutch it
in its beak and fly away

across some lonely island
onto the deeper sockets of the ocean

where compressed
blocks of a century old

garbage lie
piled up like Lord Yama’s

ever increasing
books of the dead

and the dying…

Yuyutsu Sharma Yuyutsu Ram Dass Sharma (Nepal) is a Himalayan poet, translator, and journalist from Kathmandu. Born in the Punjab at Nakodar, India, Yuyu is the author of ten books of poetry, the most recent of which include Nine New York Poems (Nirala, 2014); Milarepa’s Bones (Nirala, 2012); and Space Cake, Amsterdam (Howling Dog Press, 2009; Nirala reprint, 2014). Yuyu has also translated and edited several anthologies of contemporary Nepali poetry in English, and recently authored a Nepali bilingual translation of Hebrew poet Ronny Someck’s Baghdad, February 1991. At the center of the Nepali literary movement, Kathya Kayakalpa (Content Metamorphosis), he has received key writing fellowships from the Rockefeller Foundation and the Ireland Literature Exchange. Yuyu represented Nepal and India at the Poetry Parnassus Festival in London as a part of the 2012 Summer Olympics. A widely-traveled and distinguished public figure and journalist, Yuyu writes for The Himalayan Times, Nepal’s leading newspaper. He also currently serves as editor of Pratik, A Magazine of Contemporary Writing.