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Monthly Archives: December 2017

“Day like this” – Nayana Nair

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When I try to grasp your hand.
As I try to hold you back
from vanishing into
the morning light.
The only thing
my hands could find
are the tears
that I made you shed.
And the sorrow I had thought
would pass,
has led us to
a day like this.

“Summer” – Nayana Nair

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It will soon be summer
and you will also leave.
And the plates of the earth
will rearrange themselves,
to retain the distance
they love to keep.
Soon my arms would be empty
and slowly they would learn
to hold you better,
to hold you close,
only when you’ve gone.

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Ghost Writer (49)

This was a such relatable beautiful thought 🙂

Richard M. Ankers - Author

“Hollow. I am hollow. Good. More room for words.”

The Ghost Writer

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“Imagining Difficulties” – Nayana Nair

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The difficulty
of looking at empty roads
and imagining a crowd
in which I could
search for you.
Of looking at our life
imagining difficulties,
imagining hurdles to cross
to reach you.
But here you are
separated from me
by a sheet of decaying skin.
You are painfully near
and no guides have been written
to cross the gulf that separates us.

“No one is looking” – Nayana Nair

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This bed is too small for me
and life pouring inside me,
through the small crack in the window,
is not enough to hold me here.
I hear the names of people
whom I will never meet or know.
No one is looking for me
just as I wanted.
But still it makes me sad
to be forgotten so easily.

“Faithful” – Nayana Nair

original

The pictures
you posed for,
stayed faithful to you,
in keeping your grief
bottled up,
only to be spinkled in your art,
that glamorized the pain,
which was in fact hard to bear
and harder to name.

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-In fond memory of  Kim Jong-Hyun

(your absence will be deeply felt, may our love and care follow you to whichever world your soul is in)

“Loose Words” – Nayana Nair

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The words once written with passion

once written with anger,

sometimes filled with sweet drops of sadness

and sometimes with happiness that

made cracks in our masks.

All those words have broken down

have become loose and weak.

Those words are not our love.

Those words are our lives.

Our love is the ruled lines on paper

on which rested our broken lives,

on which rested our tested faith.

 

sherazade2011

Con te conversando, dimentico ogni tempo e le stagioni e i loro mutamenti: tutte mi piacciono allo stesso modo. (Milton)

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