SUNIL KAUSHAL

 

SUNIL KAUSHAL

 

Open Your Lips And Sing

 

I tried, I cried, I tried again, I tried very hard to sing.

One said, “Open Your Lips and Sing”,

another thundered, “don’t you dare

open your mouth”.

my throat seized under their glare.

Drip, drip, drip fear dribbled

into four chambers

now shriveled

still inscribed, “Love”.

 

I swept love out

crammed in toxic weapons

of the adult world

remotes in their clutches

conditions apply, all rights reserved.

Will someone please formulate a law

allowing me to sing

with an open mouth

sing if

and when I want to?

Copyright@Dr. Sunil Kaushal

 

 

 

Ripped Jeans

 

My jeans are ripped

you dare say

ripping me naked

laying them bare

my groveling knees

swallow your shadows

grey being the palest shade

entreaties unheard

supplications submerged. 

Pulverized fingers darn

edges of dredges

with frayed forgotten yarns

The very skin pared

my bones threadbare

and you condemn

a tear here and there.

 

I want to bequeath

these tattered testimonials

your machismo desrves an award

let this new

benchmark of skin

be the reward

garnered by femininity

be the hallmark

of shameless dignity.

Copyright@Dr Sunil Kaushal.

 

 

Illusions

 

Claiming to save the planet,

genocide, paranoia, starvation

strangles. Political masks suffocate,

struggling for nano breaths

I lose the battle for oxygen,

my last gasp.

 

Every second countless mirrors shatter.

My perfectly sculpted body

decimated to putrid lumps of flesh

stench pervades the pavement,

head eyeballing a gutter

swallowing excreta in a sewage drain

a goatskin bloating by the minute

on Ganga waves

desperately seeking

to embrace the shore

a small ditch of a sandy grave

among corpses abandoned,

contagious death sitting on live shoulders

no wood or space to cremate

but wait, wait, perhaps

where garbage incinerates

will I be half charred half baked?

 

What of my beloved?

too low a caste

for an apology of a cremation even.

Alive was scorched, was torched

beyond that holy line of fanatic reason,

in the land of the dead

chasing life’s illusions. 

Copyright@Dr. Sunil Kaushal

 

SUNIL KAUSHAL

 

Dr. SUNIL KAUSHAL is a gynaecologist turned writer with a passion for writing short stories and poetry as well as essays. A trilingual writer writing in English, Hindi and her mother tongue Punjabi. She also writes haiku, micro-poetry and limericks. Published in a number of National, International anthologies and magazines, has won many awards and competitions. Her poems have been translated into French, German and Greek.  She has received many awards, a few of which are: ***Her memoirs Gypsy Wanderings &Random Reflections was awarded The Nissim Award by The Significant League (International). *The Enchanting Muse and Fellow of the Regal World of Scribes Award, by The Pentasi B Poetree Group. * Literary Brigadier by Story Mirror. *The Women Achiever’s Award 2019 by Literoma. *Featured in the Limca Book of Records as part of the Amravati Poetic Prism2018. *Gujarat Sahitya Akademi recognised her as one of the 150 outstanding poets of India. *Her poems find a place in The Golden Book of World Records. *She was awarded Best Lioness President, Asia. *She is a Gold medalist in Dramatics, Currently her book of poems and translation of her brother P.S.Gill’s book, from German to English, keep her busy. An accomplished actor, she has done a number of stage plays, TV and radio programs. Having been on the Advisory Committees of National TV and All India Radio, she brought about a number of changes for Women and Children’s Welfare. In 1982, she was awarded ‘Best Lioness President’ Asia. She has also been chairperson of a number of socially committed organizations for many years and is associated with Mother Teresa’s Home. She is blessed with a daughter and two sons and is an indulgent grandmother to two lovely grand- daughters and a handsome grandson. She lives in Pune City, India. She listens to Indian Classical and Sufi music, when not writing, blogging, or sketching. A session of Yoga first thing in the morning charges the batteries of this 76-year-old keeping her in love with all things in life, as is evident from her writings.