Bioluminescence

Words by Aashika Suresh

Photographed by Maheshwar Singh

The first time I read research
about how humans emit a small amount
of light (especially from our faces),
I thought, oh, to someone or something,
I must be a glowworm.

I recalled all the times
I had been flushed from nervousness,
or blushed because of, oh you know,
all the various reasons one blushes.
I pictured little butterflies birthing
in my belly, then tracing a path
upwards – through my midriff, my lungs,
my chest, my heart, only to burst
into bright pink flames at my cheeks.

Scientists say the light is invisible
to the naked eye, seen only
through special, sensitive cameras.
But you know, I don’t need evidence to prove
the phenomenon. 

I have witnessed my friend’s
gummy smile, and another’s toothy-grin,
actually, the smiles of all those closest to me –
light up my dimmest days.

You probably won’t believe me,
but once, when I was in the middle of
a panic attack, a boy I liked back then
touched his fingertips to mine and I swear
I saw yellow light pass through. 

And then there’s my mother’s tight embrace
on days the world’s darkness just about
consumes me whole – her heartbeat
radiates through her flesh, the warmth
permeating into mine, comforting me
like the sun’s rays on cold winter mornings. 

I believe it. Humans glow.

It must be one of nature’s sneaky tricks;
I can almost hear the soft whisper
lingering in the rustle of leaves –
Dear human, silly, foolish, human,
you may not see it, but the light
that you go seeking out in the universe
is already within you.