From Body to Soul
My name is Shakira Nandini. I am a model, a writer, and a traveler of this being that the world has only ever seen as a body, but which I have sculpted into a soul. My life has passed not only through alleys lit with light but also through shadows where touch and loneliness cling to one another.
I have graced many beds — yes, but not merely as an ornament of flesh; rather, as a chain of moments — sometimes placing a soft hand on the neck, sometimes pulling into a whirlpool like words. Every bed was a story — told sometimes through lips, sometimes through silent eyes, sometimes through the scent of sweat, and sometimes through the midnight sobs of half-spoken kisses.
Reader! You might pause, you might flinch — but wait, I do not advocate vulgarity, but I do stand for truth.
A woman’s body is not merely an instrument of male pleasure; it is a terrain where, when touch descends, the soul either awakens or dies.
I have lived not only those moments the world calls "sin," but also the empty spaces that follow — the hollowness that lingers after a kiss, the silence that vanishes just as one says "I love you too." For me, it wasn’t just passion — it was a practice, a process of discovery, in which every body, every touch, every sigh became a mirror of my existence.
People said, a woman alone is weak. I learned, in solitude, that true strength lies in that moment when a woman lies in bed during the late hours of the night and embraces herself — not through flesh, but through memory. That touch that throbs in memory, that eye that moistens without tears — this is the sensuality that becomes the pinnacle of literature, not marketplace lust.
When sexuality appears in my writing, it is not the vulgarity of the streets — it is the quiet poetry of the bed.
When I was in a man's embrace, it was not just to quench the thirst of the body — I wanted to be complete in that one moment, the moment that slips from the eyelashes to the neck, dissolves into the breath, and turns to ashes in silence.
My journey is one of healing — but not just the healing of the body, also of the desire that devours many women simply because they were never allowed to say, "I want, too."
And this is my rebellion — quiet, but with tender lips.
I am a woman.
I want.
I touch.
I feel.
And above all, I express.
