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The Shadow

Death and its Spectre (Poonam Desai, 2016)

The painted bunting is magnificent. I had never heard of this bird until Sagar sent me a picture of its lifeless form, found outside of our home. I knew immediately I had to attempt to capture it. As gorgeous as it is, I am constantly reminded that the body is a shell to contain our soaring life. I, like the elegant bunting, must go at some time.

And so what becomes of the significance of our daily insignificances? How do I balance the gravity of the moment with the utter absurdity of it?

~Body, Mind, and Shadow~

My skin is bruised, muscles sore
Plump purple considerations
On an otherwise caramel slate
But nothing makes me feel more alive
Than being a little bit broken
I don’t want pretty blue right angles
When I can be obtuse and acute
And dark enough to blend into the shadows
Light enough to be seen
I’ll be a ghost
Observing the fray from another dimension
I’m here
Behind my skin
Using my eyes to gaze
Upon the chaos of your emotion
Don’t mistake these thick rounded vines of envy
For the horticultural mess they purport
They're to be hung on the wall
Admired from afar
I’ll bite with these loaned teeth
And give you a purple thought
About your vulnerability.
-Poonam Desai (8.16.16)

Acceptance of the unknowable is a decision we have to make every moment to live in this world without falling apart. This is my shadow. What's yours?

xoxo
Poonam

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