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 Ashwini
Kumar is an Indian poet tteaching
at Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS) Mumbai as Associate
Professor. After having lived in Oklahoma, and Texas for
many years, He has published reviews, articles, and book
chapters in prestigious journals in India and abroad. His
address is-Associate Professor
Center for Dalit And Tribal Studies
Tata Institute of Social Sciences(TISS)
Deonar,Mumbai-400088
Mumbai: 91-22-2556- 3289 /90/(Office)
Phone: 022-24142837(R)
The Death of A
Brand
She lives many lives without any veil
And slays endless despair in exile...
scared of pigeon, she sprints away with endless endorsements.
scared of arrogance, she flaunts her
bustier unapologetically…
Eager to please all,
devil beams hypnotically from her invisible skirt….
On the ramp of landmines, Crows refuse to entertain strangers…
And Bats stalk Penguins for extra affection on obsessed nights….
Waiting for sponsored dinner
She bares her turquoise neck in every party conversation…
And failing to tame wild elephants
She retreats in her oyster like a street whore….
I am sure
prose carries its own seeds of destruction….
And poetry shivers eternally as the hidden voice of Gods….
Today She Hindu, tomorrow Muslim
In future, She will be reborn as untouchable warrior…
Today, She a woman, tomorrow a man
In future, she will be a transvestite…
Whose story I am telling you I don’t know………..
Whose flesh and blood I am addicted to, I don’t know…
Young or old
We all grow like dead nails in the graveyard….
On my graduation day, all scars will go away…
Good or evil will once again
Become united as first time lovers.
Stranger
The sky dances in its own shadow…
In the sea
newly married horses chase virgin waves
at the gateway of India…
Defeated Gods spray downpours indiscriminately…
Indecent proposals sweep the wet streets.
Don’t go away fugitive clouds…
Don’t listen to hollow rumors…
Though I suffer the stigma of being
a bonded slave to your Downtown,
come running to my bed,
I am no stranger to your town…
Wedding Planner
Autumn is warm and wet.
The leaves are turning gold...
Swinging high and low in his uninterrupted moral vacation,
Krishna returns to the town to tie the nuptial knots…
On the wedding night, high on selenium diet
The savage God of love teaches the demure bride in beige lehanga
everything about cup sizes and brands,
in a vain attempt to unravel
The mystique of Lee Cooper bridal lingerie.
Unfazed by the old pair of contact lenses
and the settled sediments of fast food in her stomach,
the bride giggles in her devotion to Vastushastra.
Unsure of when love and hate collide
and defamation wins another battle,
the night hatches another egg in grief of Kamasutra.
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