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“I Close Another Window” – Nayana Nair

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i close the window that must be closed
a hope that must be dropped.
the flame of love, the hand that holds me,
scalds me, takes me to new places,
makes me sit under a trees
with another unusual bright fruits,
asks me to cry like i did before,
paints me, calls me beautiful,
feeds me compliments, but just enough
that my tears won’t dry.
leaves me in lonely rooms of a rundown hotels
with the promises of tomorrow,
another town, another tear to paint.
as he disappears at the end of the street,
i close the window that must be closed,
a hope that must be dropped.

“Last Everything” – Nayana Nair

There are bouts of tears,
phone calls,
consolation, advice,
and it ends.

The river stops
and flows again.

There are missed calls, busy tone,
letters never penned,
the sky
that didn’t shatter like glass.

The river stops
and flows again.

There is me,
there is you,
there are our days together
and the days we will never have.

Nothing ends
even if I break.
The river stops
and flows again,
even if I lose
my last breath,
my last love to it.

“Away from the City of Saints” – Nayana Nair

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so the saint i read about
walked this land,
looked at this river, looked at this sky,
and stood where I stand.

in the cases of glass there are letters,
there are feelings i cannot understand.
they say he made this place with love
here his everything ends, where his nothing began.

but the glass turned into mirrors
his writing became face of mine.
i was pricked by the bitterness
that were not supposed to be in his words.

how can he say the things we say?
how can his cruelty be pardoned for his principle?
why can i not call him hero
like i used to, like everyone still does?
why his truth makes me shrink away from every other truth?
why does his life disappoint me so much?

i came here seeking nothing
but i left losing a lot
and doubting a lot.
on my way back
i left the what he once gave me
and finally picked up what i should have.

“December Moon” – Nayana Nair

I could no longer taste
the nameless fruit
that I held in my hand,
that I hid in my mouth a moment ago.
I fled from one home to another.
I sewed my heart to another
even when it pained.
I tried to find myself back,
pry out my heart from the cage of love
even when I was happy.
I wanted to miss someone.
I wanted to call out a name,
so that my life may not feel empty.
Since I had many names on my lips,
I came to know that the emptiness of my life
came not from the lack of people I loved
but by the lack of people who treasured me back.
So I let the fruit fall to ground.
I let my hunger gnaw at the my own skin.
I forced myself to think of myself,
by hurting myself,
by asking myself to forget.

“Who I am” – Nayana Nair

I will spend some nights
listening to why I am not the one you can love.
I will keep you awake and keep myself in pain
till I get this list down,
till I memorize it all,
till “who I am” just means “what you can’t love”.

I daydream about how I will leave you.
In this fiction
I know how to stop,
there I have given up on you,
there you are seek my acceptance for a change.

But I stop dreaming just before devising,
drawing a bright future without you,
without your rejection.
I stop because I have calls to answer,
mistakes to regret, trips to plan,
friends to cut off, paint my room black,…
I stop because there is so much suffering
I have to live through
before I am allowed to forget you.

“Hint” – Nayana Nair

Once I could call you,
call your name
without reason ,
without the anxiousness
that now haunts me
when the phone keeps ringing
or when you stay silent
as you wait for me to take the hint.

-oOo-

I am afraid of bringing up my own name in front of you.
I am afraid to talk about your absence.
I am afraid to hold your hand.
I am afraid of saying ‘I love you’ first.

-oOo-

I keep hoping
that you must have reasons
that have clouded your eyes
and numbed your feelings,
that you are looking
for a way to keep us together.
I keep hoping
even when I shouldn’t.

“Anything but Gray” – Nayana Nair

Once I could write of rains
and the pain they bring.
Today I am afraid of the umbrellas, of shelters,
of the short-lived moments
of what I used to call happiness,
of the ill-planned escapes from cells
filled with my own darkness and filth.

o

How have I grown into this person
who recognizes only one face,
that is my own.
Can my selfishness be something
that I can blame someone else for?
Is this also some form of loneliness?

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