Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Bio: Sharing English language and literature since 1973, Dr Lalit Mohan Sharma also served as Principal at government colleges like in Hamirpur and Dharmshala. Besides being Director of HPU Regional Centre at Dharmshala, Dr Sharma has been member of NAAC’s Peer Teams. He has published poetry and novels in Hindi, and eight books of English poetry including one of translation from Zahid’s Urdu poems. Latest book is of Hindi Poetry, ‘पटल से प्रांगण तक’, Authors Press, New Delhi.
“A Little Fire”, book of English Verse will soon be out. Dr L. M. Sharma is actively associated with NGOs like State War Memorial, Retired Professors Forum, Janchetna, as President, Dayanand Education Society, Vice- President Harmony Day Care Centre. Dr Sharma has been anthologised in books of poetry, stories and academic research including ‘21st Century Critical Thought : A Dialogue with Post-Modern Voices, Vol I, Earth Vision. Publications.
A Silken Privacy
You are a metaphor for a friend
Who beckons but is never seen,
Who speaks and yet isn’t heard.
Only basis for a bonding is that
She does read whatever I write,
In her I have an intimate mind,
Another mental friend whose
Presence in person I yearn for.
My desire for you is born of the very little
I know of you, the looks in your eyes have
Drawn me into busy conversations,
I liked the touch bohemian in your dress
When once you posed as an author,
Maybe, eyes blinked behind sun glasses,
And your hair had a touch of langour.
I stand waiting as if at the open door and
I won’t knock, fearing even a gentle blow
On the silk-soft curtains of your privacy.
Yearnings float,a mass of white clouds,
A splash of anguish stirs a flash of grey .
One way to strengthen intellect, says
A young poet two hundred years ago,
Is to make up one’s mind about nothing.
But I have final words on what’s good
Acting, good dance, music, a good book,
Good politics, governance, teachers and
Scholars, good parenting, good society,
Traditions, festivals, policing and laws.
When I see an actor fall short in imitation,
An author escape conflict in melodrama,
A politician treat masses into hysteria,
To build up his Big Brother image, each
Event and glory in acts of citizens add
To the aura invincible around his name;
Looking at dismal schools, doctor’s care
And arrogance of even a lowly official,
Would lead you to arraign one and all
To no avail, for frustration will soon
Injure the air you breathe, turn brittle
The sharpe edge of intellect that cuts
Through the chicken wire of prejudice.
My Morning Islands
I steal not your time with my words and
Verses, and recite not as could Romeo
Under Juliet’s balcony; does it amuse you,
Sounds hilarious as in our age and time
One can think of the lovers doomed to die
Despite swearing by honest vows of love.
Our desires arise of a mundane surface
And assume the resonance of yearnings
Which act as healing touch in absence of
Emotions of spontaneous joy in love.
Maybe, waking up sudden after a night
Of a sleep distracted by such dreams as
When as ageing man you sit and speak
To your adolescent friends who haven’t
Yet changed in years or their fancy habits.
Morning floats with islands of clouds
Yellow with a flash of light purple and
Flowers jostle with buds and the varying
Shades of green next to the verandah
Where I stretch full straight on a new day.