“Seek Me Out” – Nayana Nair

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I can feel you crying .
I feel your tears on my cheeks.
I can feel your fear in my hand.
I feel the words of the lost one
falling on my ears.
I cannot understand if they are
the words I wanted to hear.
This life is getting lonely,
my heart is getting dark
and I have only you
the one who caused my suffering
who can stop me from
extinguising the flame of my mind-
the only place she is alive.
Why won’t you look for me?
Why won’t you seek me out?
Your misery could be a good excuse
for me to live a little longer.
Your misery could be a good excuse
to keep her face in light.

“Throw Myself”- Nayana Nair

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There was no breath left to let out

as I throw myself down the stairs.

And every step that I tumble down,

I feel breaking bones.

Muscles and knuckles

losing another bubble of a happy memory

that I once thought would be enough to keep me alive.

My broken thoughts rush into my blood

into my empty lungs,

almost convinced that this the last

they will see of me.

And I never tire out.

I never feel sore enough or pained enough

to stop myself from doing this to me.

But while I took you for another wall

that existed to break me,

another voice to help me fill up

pages of essays of self-hatred

and regrets that do not forget me.

You became the arms that hold me, lift me

And carry my burden of life along with me.

And for first time

I want to live better.

And I want you in that better life with me.

“Whale Songs” – Nayana Nair

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My house on hills and its silence
are always occupied in a duel
with the wartime echoes from far away lands,
with the agonizing voices of reality.
Even if I surround my house
with the greenest trees,
place cool streams around.
Even if I cloud my windows
with curtains of smoke.
Even if I barter with life,
even if I am ready to embrace
loneliness for the sake of peace.
In my dreams, filled with whale songs,
there are sorrows
of lives I have cut off myself from.
But I am not someone
who can save people from themselves.
I have no choice but to burn
the letters,
the newspapers,
to keep myself warm and alive.

“Blue of our Minds” – Nayana Nair

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The strip of land
that lies in the midst
of the blue of our minds.
There
shall we sit face to face and talk.

We could talk of many things
you could tell me
how your hands throw away
every trinkets and prize,
only because they don’t feel as
you thought they would in your hands.
How they are too heavy on your soul
that doesn’t want to be dragged down.
How they are just things that can be lost
and are found again and again
by hands that will surely loose them again.
And you don’t actually care where they end up.

I could tell you
of my world
where all of these cold things
that your hand detest
have kept me alive,
where my hands brush away
care of others
because I am calculating
which piece of myself I would have to give away
as the cost of the kindness.
(Yes, every kindness has a cost,
even if it is never demanded.)
Because everything that has a warm heart
has a furnace of fire inside
that burns everyone equally.

But I am here sitting opposite you
and I am ready to get my heart broken.
Trust me when I say-
It takes a lot to break me.
And only when it comes to you,
I am not looking for an easy way out.

“Silver Moon” – Nayana Nair

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Have you reached that part of your life
where the seasons don’t matter,
and time doesn’t matter.
And the only thing that occupies your mind
is you.
Because it is the only thing
breaking in this perfect world
and you know not
how to keep this perfect thing going on.
The silver moon stays in the sky
while your eyes become useless
as the hands of god scribble endlessly,
so that the moon crumbles only in your eyes.
If you haven’t reached that part,
I hope you don’t.
And if you are already there
let’s hope we can get out of it .
For the only hope I have is-
if only I can hold myself together,
there is still that beautiful world out there
whose memory keeps us alive this season-less land.

“Far too valuable” – Nayana Nair

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My plate
and my half eaten meal,
they remind you of all the times
when I have wasted things, far too valuable.
The trinkets that I treasure.
The coins that cannot buy anything.
The souvenirs that have lost meaning,
the people without memories.
This city in my mind,
I keep alive by not breathing.
You wonder how I became like this.
I wonder how can I be anything but this.

“The Idea of Something More” – Nayana Nair

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My frail body and mind
were nothing more than what it was intended for.
And I was no better than any other
body barely keeping itself alive.
And though I was fed again and again
the idea of being something more,
being someone more.
In moments like these
I am reduced by my sorrows
to the helpless creature
we all know we are.

“Then, Now” – Nayana Nair

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Then

There is more to life
than merely staying alive.
And happiness is all I sought.
It was a small thing to ask,
I couldn’t figure out why
it was the only thing I never got.

Now

There is more to life
than merely wanting happiness.
Courage to live one more day
is all that I need.
For happiness was never here to stay.
In the end I was left alone
with this life,
which I wanted and loved.
Yet, this life, I couldn’t bear.

“Some other time” – Nayana Nair

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I want to tell you
how you slowly became the tree
that guards me from the happiness and sadness
of the world,
and let me create my own.
How it was lovely to see you grow.
How it hurt to love you.
How beautiful you were even in the worst of your moments.
How I selfishly wanted to be the only scar on your heart
and only smile on your face.
How,on days that I desperately
looked for a reason to stay,
yours was the only name
that anchored me in this world.
I will tell you how I always lived
dreaming of death,
dreaming of release,
and how thankful I am that
you kept me alive.
I will tell you all this.
But not today.
Some other time.

“PLAYGROUNDS”-Nayana Nair

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The breaths not taken are accumulating.

It mixes with the tears not shed.

Creates a poison that lingers in my thought

but doesn’t flow into my blood.

To keep me barely alive to suffer.

Suffer from a poison of my own making.

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Slowly I forget

one small detail at a time.

I realize it only when I see this gap in memory

that my frail imagination fails to fill.

Words are slipping out of my hands.

My thoughts are no longer mine.

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All the parks have become graveyards.

Where tomorrow died a slow, slow death.

And it slips into an even slower decay.