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“Part and Parcel” – Nayana Nair

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That day when it rained of
bruised and dying birds
of feathers marked with colors only
an arrogant and confident cruelty can cause,
everyone looked about for an umbrella
to protect themselves from this vision
that they didn’t want to witness.
This was not the historic moment
that they wanted to be part of.

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I could understand their willingness to believe
that the marks of fingers in the blood and bodies
that filled up the roads
can be called natural causes.
It was probably better
than knowing the names of people whom we may have laughed with
only to know they know how to fly,
how to clip wings and suspend the decaying bodies in air
for eternities,
while we asked them the directions for our life,
while we asked them to tie up our laces as a child,
while we asked them to love us, and build a new life.

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I guess even the innocent
got fed up of being looked at like a potential danger
or tired of looking for one.
It was probably more convenient to come to an understanding,
of agreeing on a made-up fact
that this all is part and parcel of being a bird in the sky,
that birds should know better than to fly,
and tempt innocent humans into life of crime.
Birds at their best should just chirp joyfully
and let everything slide.

“Trade Myself” – Nayana Nair

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Will this river
that runs between us
loose its taste of mistrust,
if I take up your blood
and let go of mine?

I wish I could do that.

But a part of my mind,
that is yet to be corrupted by love,
rationalises and prefers
my loveless and homeless state
than to entrust my dreams to you.
It tells me
that if I can easily give them away
trade myself for a hope with an expiration date,
that if I don’t care
you won’t too.

“The Little Blood I Have” – Nayana Nair

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I looked up at the confused giants
and puzzled at their ugly voices
and deformed faces,
how they hold onto stones and branches
how they hold onto papers,
and threw each other off cliffs.
But what made me sadder was
that no one who was thrown off those cliffs ever died.
They just keep coming back
looking a bit different, speaking more funnier
and acting more mean
and throwing each others down again.
No one ever died here.
Everyone lived and everyone wanted all this to end
but no one wished it more than me.
I was made to believe that the little blood I have in me
is their doing, is their gift.
I wonder how much time it would take
to empty myself from the traces of this violence
and memories of people I grew up calling my family.

“Mess” – Nayana Nair

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A shadow moves in the clearing ahead
avoiding the columns of lighted air.
It steps on the green
now splattered with red
and looks for a hand that can help,
to get rid of this blood.
It finds my face and looks away
seeing probably I am in a bigger mess.

“Close these windows” – Nayana Nair

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I continue to live in the light of my own making
knowing it is the only light I’ll ever find.
For a moment I wonder, how I look to you.
Loosing my sorrow.
Loosing my frown.
Loosing my mind.
One by one
I close these windows
through which your eyes prod me,
to see what’s left behind.
This growing envy, this show for sympathy
these broken words with drops of blood
is all that you would find.

“Escaping My End” – Nayana Nair

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I try to take out this poison
of my thoughts
drop by drop from my blood.
My blood, that doesn’t want to be red.
My thoughts, that don’t want to be rational.
My pain, that doesn’t want to dull.
And the more papers I fill,
the more I am convinced
there is no other way I could live.
That I am surely escaping my end
by keeping my sobs on different lines,
on different pages.
By dividing the oceans, the sorrows
that were intent on drowning me.

“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 the 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 myself.

But while I took you for another wall

that existed to break me,

another voice to help me fill up

pages on 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 with me in that better life.

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