“Everything in me seems to be made to hope” – Nayana Nair

.

I stand in the shadow
of the great palms
of the red tiles that grow out of its soul
I stand watching the world go cold.

The broad roads of this city made of dust,
the river made out the minds, out of dreams –
this is my home,
till I learn to break away from its spell.

My tongue feels heavy
with the growing names I am supposed to learn,
with all the things I must not be to be loved by them.
I am almost expecting new things.
“this is a good time to run away”, says my ghost-from-the-city-of-sea.

My ghost-from-the-mountains-green laughs
at how desperately I want to be understood, to be seen
and yet how furiously I try to erase everything of myself.

Everything in me seems to be made to be hidden.
I hide my trembling fingers.
I hide my desperation and the mess it leaves in its wake.
I prepare myself for another show.
The show of trying. My trying is so beautiful
in how it is always hoping to be disappointed.

I wait under the neon signs of misspelled words
and think about the storm that will never arrive.
I wait with hope.
I wait with arms fed up of trying.

4 Comments

    1. Nayana Nair says:

      Thank you ๐Ÿ™‚
      Really glad that you liked it ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ˜€

  1. A great blending of emotion and exploration of feelings. I love the way this was constructed.

    1. Nayana Nair says:

      Thank you so much ๐Ÿ™‚
      Really glad that you liked it. ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ˜€ Means a lot.

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