Poem – Mules – Yuyutsu Sharma

On the great Tibetan 

salt route they meet me again 
old forsaken friends… 
On their faces 

fatigue of a drunken sleep 
their lives worn out, 

their legs twisted, shaking 
from carrying 

illustrious flags of bleeding ascents. 
Age long bells clinging 

to them like festering wounds 
beating notes 

of a slavery modernism brings: 
cartons of Iceberg, mineral water bottles, 

solar heaters, Chinese tiles, tin cans, carom boards 
sacks of rice 

and iodized salt from the plains of Nepal Terai. 
Butterflies of 

the terraced fields know their names. 
Singing brooks tempests 

of their breathless climbs. 
Traffic alert 

and time-tested, they climb 

dreams of posh peacocks 

of a secret religious war 

of an ecologist’s sterile semen 
entire kitchen 

for a cocktail party at the base camp 
defunct development 

agenda of guilty donors 
the West’s weird visions 

lusting for an instant purge. 
Stone steps 

of the mountains embossed 
on their drugged brains, 

like lines of aborted love 

on the historic rocks of waterspouts. 
Starry skies 

of the dozing valleys know 
the ache 

of their secret sweat. 
Sunny days 

along the crystal rivers 

of their bleeding eyes. 
Greatest fiction 

of the struggling lives lost, 
like real mules 

clattering their hooves on the flagstones, 
in circling 

the cruel grandeur 
of blood thirsty 

mule paths around the glacial of Annapurnas.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.