Radha's Krishna

54. ||REFLECTION||

Of course there have been quite a few tales
Of how I had lost all the colour
All the vigour
of my
Milk like skin
On your departure.

What can I say
They weren't tell tales,
Certainly.

I had stopped
Decorating myself
Adorning
My hair with
Those flowers you so loved
My eyes with kohl
My lips with soft carmine
My ears with wild blooms
My bosom with incense.

There was no point.
I was adorned by you once
And now
It was just
Pointless
And baseless.

Those Gopis would
Bring me my gold lacquered mirror
And exclaim, with unimaginable melancholy
You aren't Radha anymore
I would look at the reflection of my face
It wouldn't sadden me.
It wasn't me anyway.

The Radha so known to them
Had died inside.

But I remember that one bright day,
Krishna
The sun had shone brighter
Its rays had pierced my dark quarters
And a song of sweet cuckoos
Woke me up.

The river shone bright blue
Dancing its own dance
Happiness
Was contagious.
I saw it that day.

Of course it had to be that blessed day
Of your birth.

I couldn't help
But dress up
Like my girlhood days
Maybe it was your magic that played
Or the haunting charm of your existence somewhere
That forced me to be me again
I know not.

And so I did.
Flowers in my long tresses
Kohl in my eyes
Carmine for the lips
Wild blooms for the ears
And
Incense for the bosom.

I can assure you
I surprised quite a few people that day.
The Gopis being few of them.

And ritualistically,
They brought the gold lacquered mirror with tremendous delight
Held it in front of my adorned face

And gasped.

They didn't expect your reflection in the mirror, Krishna.
I could only smile
And feel me again.