Voices Within: Shailja Sharma

Shailja Sharma is a multi-lingual author and a mental health provider. Her poetry book, “Dear Mama: An Immigrant’s Secret Cry,” is under publication with Setu, and several books are upcoming (e.g., a poetry collection on mindfulness with ABP Press). Apart from her scholarly publication/editorial service, her poetry has been widely published and anthologized published nationally and internationally. Recent credits: Spillwords, Literary Heist, Piker Press, Better Than Starbucks, Life in 10, Masticadores, and elsewhere. Her Hindi poetry is published in newspapers/literary/scholarly magazines. Recent Credits: Sahityanama, Delhi Navodit Sahitya Manch, Sahitya Kalash, Amar Ujala, and elsewhere. She is awarded special literary honors for her writing contributions.

Just As

With a bamboo stick and a gallon of ink

With an injured stature and much blood

We sang songs of

Petals that could have been roses

Sounds that could have been music

Wombs that could have produced

The boy that never became a man

With a fuller stature and a clearer image

We now sing songs of birds that

Perch freely on roses

Because memories are important

As long as they let birds fly and soar

Not when they pull them back

And put them in confines

Leave the memory and

Smell and sip and live the rose

The day looks just as it was meant to be

***

Party 

Many words are wasted 

But much is left unsaid

Appetizers vanishing quickly as youth 

Thirsty souls sipping restlessly

Empty bottles rattling in loud music

Egos dancing on many tunes 

Bodies too

Needles of the clock racing round and round

Time to empty plates

Time to settle floating thoughts

Time to patch up conflicts 

Time to rest egos and dancing feet

Before the sun cracks up the dark sky 

Party must end 

Make-up will be wiped off of face and soul

Shimmering satins and jewels will let loose 

Ties will come off from necks and hearts 

So will the body 

The party is ending and I must leave

My ride awaits out the door 

I must walk out this venue 

Party must end

***

Wild Night

Night's wild locks are open

Stars like sparkling hairpins

Trying to tuck them in

Youthful night will end

Into a clear day

Clear of mystery

Clear of the night’s beauty and charm

Naked to stark reality

The day pure like death

Will stand and stare through

No matter how much the sky

Sparkles all night

***

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Setu, February 2022