Someone who had wanted to be a journalist and took a degree in journalism becomes anything but that, and is today a sum of many diverse interests and pursuits.
A love for thoughts and words made me a writer, a love for all that exists out there in nature made me a photographer, a love for imparting knowledge and shaping young minds made me a home tutor, a love for the splash of colors made me a painter. I am all these, and yet none of it. Most times, I am just a void caught in a woman’s flowing form.
Photo credit: Asha Kumar
By Asha Kumar
Have you ever fallen in love with a shadow
and sought shelter in its purple haze?
It’s like being drunk on a dream
filled with psychedelic colours
that you reach out in tousled sleep
and wrap around to become a rainbow.
You don’t build nests on a shadow tree
and mar its silent harmony.
You perch on it with cocktail of emotions,
Gently, as if the contours would crack
if you put a reckless foot on it.
And when the leaves murmur in the twilight breeze,
You open your wings and whirl languidly.
As darkness cascades from the skies,
You become the body of the shadow
and the shadow becomes your soul.
It’s love –
that wears no rinds of vulgar skin
around lumps of lusting flesh.
It happens only in tinsel dreams
that toxic nights rarely release from its secret vaults
to the accompaniment of a starry ensemble.
Between you and your love,
there is no wall, no words, no monsoon myths.
Only a sacred emptiness that knows
the meaning of being a shadow lover.
Photo credit: Allan Filipe Santos Dias
By Asha Kumar
Will you love me through my attrition?
When I have pared myself to the last vestige of humanness
When I have peeled these beguiling aspects,
One skin after the other –
A woman, a poet and layers of gauzy put-ons,
Denuded, with nothing in my periphery,
Standing in the dark with no synonyms,
When all that defines me now
becomes autumn leaves.
Will you love me beyond my visage –
Not even a smile stretching out
to kindle your amorous fire,
With only a feeble breath to mark me alive.
Will you love me beyond
the baits of my flickering eyes,
Beyond my words, silence
and the timid spaces in between?
Come to me
only if you will find
that last shred of me – my spirit
worthy of devouring and possessing.
Come to me
with proof of your pristine passion,
over which you will shed
tears of poetry
and I will measure you with my bareness.
Remember, on the day of reckoning
you will see nothing of me,
Yet I will know
how unsullied your offering is.
And I will take you in
to be part of my void.
For that is the love
I have harboured for you for eons –
Ask yourself if you can love me thus.
Then, we will invade the Garden of Eden,
Scatter pollens of love over the earth,
Be reborn as the spring season,
And sing butterfly songs.