SUNIL KAUSHAL

SUNIL KAUSHAL

A Soldier’s Story

The valley reverberates with volleys of firing

the skin covering a mass of muscles and a bundle of organs

ruptures, warm blood splashing and spurting on frozen snow

out of a cavern, a sliced open abdomen.

The warmth of human blood permeates snow

melts and mingles, cauterizing numb wounds

crimson stops pouring over white turns maroon,

then purple to blue-black, gushing rivers stem,

as consciousness slips into a tiny body, backtracks

to the day a sperm won the race to fertilize that ovum

which survived the deluge of the menstrual flood,

conjoined as one nucleus, began a new life.

A nidus around which wove a miracle,

anchoring firmly to walls nurturing tenderly,

protected inside, no concern,

skin intact, containing the world.

Fire smolders inside the mother’s womb,

ripening the pregnancy,

implants  memory of bearing heat.

Bullets  zipping through rupturing skin,

cooled, awakening a dormant DNA.

Nine months in floating fluids

help fight the frothy liquid choking lungs,

threatening to drown him in his own secretions.

Sharing the wondrous, heaving effort of navigating

the birth canal with his mother, waves of contractions

akin to undulations of a sinking brain,

battling fading consciousness.

As the abdomen gashed, once again the midwife’s blade

severed him from the earth, which gave him birth,

the inherent survival instinct of the ancestral sperm,

reconnecting to the core life force,

no longer alone, saved him.

Life vacillates on a thread, till healing hands take over,

enveloping darkness a reprieve, the bliss of letting go.

Chloroform vapors waft around whispering shadows,

as the clanging of scalpels and scissors recede into merciful oblivion.

Ensconced in warmth on a snowless snowhite bed,

loving helping hands, clean crudely healing scars,

his abdomen similar to his mother’s,

speaks to him of rebirth.

Copyright@Dr. Sunil Kaushal

Many Years Ago

Many years ago you did what the sun of spring does to blooms.

I bloomed with the fragrance of your breath, heavy on my breath.

Today, impending storms frighten, as I wait for your shadow

silhouetted against my window.  Twilight creeps on

stirring the slush of memories

that splatter my life with pain.

With the warmth of your presence

curling through crevices of desires

your thoughts once again stoke my passions to ferocious heat

threatening to consume  my life’s labour of burying you,

even as I try to accustom this body to a solitary soul,

for we no longer stay awake together till dawn

to watch the morning stars fade

kissing each other’s eyes, bidding goodbye.

When we tear asunder what was yours and mine

the wind also becomes sad

as we part without a formal goodbye,

shedding memories,

leaving behind the fragrance that was ours.

What a pity I had nothing to give you except myself

or dreams that poured in torrents out of my heart

spilling in all the places where we made love.

At some places hope sprouted, elsewhere a belief took root

as I succumbed to luxuriating, awaiting their bloom.

There were a lot of blighted blossoms and dying dreams

while time quickly flowed like water.

Before I could awaken from my reverie

I lay in chains at your feet, a writhing bird

wings clipped in midflight, crashing to earth,

my bones crushed to dust

as you walked away without once looking back.

I stare into the mirror for long

as the self of yore pines to live again.

I sigh and listen to my own sobbing

that threatens to still my songs forever.

I sigh to heave a song

full of regrets, reproaches, and doubts

as I see you all those years ago

feet firmly planted on the bedrock of your youth

with not an inch where I could

even totter and stumble at your feet

or live in some back alley of your life.

Stretching fragments of your presence

over a life span, I made it bearable.

Then a voice called out to me.

It was the self of yore;

I had stopped her from following me.

But she did, holding a sword

truncated you to nothingness

decimating your very existence out of my life.

For years you must have shed tears of remorse and guilt,

for years tormented with memories

of stolen kisses and my warm touch

for years rotted in the grave of your own digging.

I know not this for sure,

but wish to believe that you did,

as I opened the window to reason

and let  in the gust of wind,

that blew out the candle I lit every dusk

in memory of what was ours

while I became free to grow new wings,

rise and soar into the vastness of my own sky

.Copyright@Dr. Sunil Kaushal

Can Spring Be Far Behind--?

My deciduous bones heave a sigh of relief,

joints turn on rusted hinges

summer is over,

the smell of the past fades with withered flowers

though I miss the flowers and blossoms on trees

and let go of scentless fragrances of the past

the humming of birds and buzzing of bees

distances deaden droning chant of birds now flown south

my soul gets ready to yield forgotten dreams, that ached in silence.

The heat of youth’s summer over and the cool of autumn here

fleeting seasons brush green tendrils of spring, turning

mellow yellow-orange golden, like burnished gold

autumn leaves fall to the ground, leaves out of life’s book.

I lie on the grass gazing at the waning and tired moon,

to spangle the skies, time plucked the stars from my eyes,

the dewfall of my tears drop the curtain, as they lay me down.

Tender shoots parting the earth below me,

whisper words of hopeful resurgence

the engulfing winter dark of the grave becomes

just another passing phase, call it the fifth season

from whence rebirth will bring back spring, the flowers, the stars

that twinkle in the amazed eyes of the cherubic infant

I shall come back as, chortling and gurgling in delight!

Copyright @Dr. Sunil Kaushal

SUNIL KAUSHAL

SUNIL KAUSHAL: Dr.Sunil Kaushal, gynecologist, trilingual writer also writes haiku, micro-poetry, and limericks. Published in a number of National, International anthologies and magazines, she has won many awards and competitions. Her poems have been translated into French, German, and Greek. Read her in Crumpled Voices 2, Feathers, Nature Poems, Forever a Lie, Bloodshot Eyes, Learning and Creativity, Love – A Divine Madness Vol.1&2, Episteme, Kafiyaa, On Fire Cultural Movement, Setu,  Storymirror, Kalaage, Muffled Moans, The International Multilingual Amravati Anthology,  Glomag, Quill Master, The Significant League’s Roseate Sonnets Anthology(International), Aatish 2, her memoirs Gypsy Wanderings & Random Reflections Part1, and her blog sunilkaushal44.blogspot.in. In October 2017 she was honored at the Indian World Poetree Festival with The Enchanting Muse Award(International) and Fellow of the Regal World of Scribes(FRWS), by The Pentasi B Poetree Group. She has been designated as Literary Brigadier by Story Mirror. Literoma publishers conferred on her the Woman Achievers Award for the year 2019. Her debut book of memoirs, GYPSY WANDERINGS&RANDOM REFLECTIONS recently won special category non-fiction, prize from Nissim Ltd. Awarded by The Significant League for its ‘the exquisite prose’. Currently, ‘Gypsy Wanderings Part 2’, 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, and as the medical doctor on board, All India Radio, Jalandhar, for 30 years, 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. Sketching, Yoga, meditation, Classical and Sufi music charge this 75-year-old with vitality, staying in love with life!