Bleeding Vermilion Hues: A Conversation with Soumita Saha on Art, Music, and the Poetry of Feeling

In a rare confluence of literature, music, and visual art, artist–composer–poet Soumita Saha steps into the literary world with her debut poetry collection, Bleeding Vermillion Hues, published by The BookSpot Publishers.

“Bleeding Vermillion Hues is my debut poetry collection, but it was conceived as more than just a book,” says Soumita Saha. “It lives at the intersection of poetry, music, and visual art—my natural languages of expression.”

Titled after her poem of the same name, the collection extends into music through a song composed for the book’s trailer, released on 12 January 2026. Drawing inspiration from Indian classical ragas and the works of Amrita Sher-Gil, Soumita translates sound and imagery into verse, creating intimate emotional narratives.

“With this book, I wanted words to be felt, seen, and heard,” she adds. “It’s an invitation into a world where poetry sings and emotions bleed beautifully in vermillion.” In a candid conversation Soumita shares about her literary journey and inspiration for her new book.

 Bleeding Vermilion Hues is a striking title. What does “vermilion” symbolize for you, and why did you choose to let it bleed?

Artists, as we all understand, are creatures of heightened perception—finely strung, inwardly luminous. We witness ordinary moments through an uncommon prism, where incidents are refracted into layered meanings, and emotions do not merely pass through us; they take residence. I have always found my emotional grammar articulated through music, pigments, and language. When sound, colour, and silence fail to contain what stirs within, I allow words to bleed—spilling their vermilion hues across the page.

Your poetry carries a quiet melancholy intertwined with music and visual art. How did these art forms influence the voice of this book?

This book is not an adornment separate from me; it is an unvarnished extension of my inner self. It mirrors the way I apprehend emotions that strike at my very core. I am intrinsically incomplete without music and visual art, and so my words, too, would remain unfinished without their resonance. They draw breath from melody and form, from rhythm and image, becoming whole only in their presence.

 Many poems feel like emotional confessions rather than compositions. Was this book written as a form of healing?

For me, poetry is not mere articulation but an emotional confession—an alchemy where pain, longing, and vulnerability dissolve into language. What wounds me finds release by transmuting itself into verse, weaving hurt into something contemplative, something quietly luminous.

 The cover is based on your own artwork. How does the visual language of the cover converse with the poems inside?

The genesis of this work was visual before it became verbal. The idea first surfaced as a painting and only later crystallized into poetry. I have been working on a series titled Stamp, and this piece is, in fact, the second in that continuum. Once the painting reached completion, I lingered with it—deciphering the unspoken narrative it wished to convey. It was then that the poem revealed itself. In time, the words found their way into melody, and the poem evolved further, assuming the life of a song.

As a singer and composer, how different is it to perform emotions through poetry instead of music?

Being a composer and songwriter, I inevitably find echoes of lyricism in my poetry. Yet poetry grants me a wider horizon of freedom. Lyrics must submit to the discipline of melody, cadence, and musical architecture. Poetry, by contrast, answers only to emotion—it roams unrestrained, unmeasured, allowing expression to unfold in its purest, most uninhibited form.