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“Flower” – Nayana Nair

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I pluck one leaf at a time
from this flower, this script
my life is.
I throw them from bridges
on cold evenings.
I bury them in the soil
that soils their print with time.
I burn them to ashes,
so they won’t smell the same.
I hang them on trees
that will never bear fruits.
To leave this story of mine
everywhere and nowhere.
So that you may find it.
So that you may not find it.
But
I wear the last page, last leaf
with only one word, you name, written,
on my finger
as substitute for you hands
that I can no longer hold.

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“With Time” – Nayana Nair

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I learnt with time
that I could write everything I had in me
and still it would not matter.
No clever lines, no rhymes I think up
can affect the life around me,
where people are indifferent
to what I do , what I say
and especially what I write.
And no matter what I do,
this distance I have from this world,
cannot be bridged my mere words.
And if it can’t be done through words,
I am convinced, it can’t be done at all.

kji

I learnt with time
that everyone is lonely.
But only few are cursed
to remember this fact
every time they wake up
to a morning that
they never look forward to.

“WHERE COLORS MERGE”- Nayana Nair

 

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As a child, they were, a wonder,

The brown stone bridge and the blue flowing under,

The green withering away on reaching the path,

The fiery red flames spitting everywhere its wrath,

The yellow sun, or orange maybe,

The pink that clouded the hands of babies,

The black cold night and the white snowflakes,

When colors had life, that was ours to take.

And today on the bridge I stand,

With withered white dissolving the pink of my hand.

Where went the colors? the wonder?

Now red is just love or danger.

The yellow just a hideous bright color,

The blue is for rain: for eyes or weather,

The green has, now, no space to grow,

Other colors, with time, come and go.

The people too are colored now

In their cheerful oranges,

Or gloomy blue nights.

In the black ashen hearts,

Or in the red gore fights.

In the yellow sunny smiles,

Or the lifeless aged white.

In the carefree green lives,

And colorful soaring kites.

But you my friend,

You my love,

Are very hard to define.

I look hard,

And guess I might,

But I’ll never get it right.

For you are where my judgment fails,

With your color having neither meaning nor shade.

As I stand at this rationality’s edge,

I see

You are, where all my colors merge.

roughwighting

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