“today’s weather is fashioning a hollow revenge out of my sorrow” – Nayana Nair

.

“all those creatures of rotten wings
that circles above us,
not even waiting for our death,
not even the basic respect for a life
hanging by its broken teeth
on the clothes line of memory
in the unwelcome worrying winds
of this world,
what if we get to them first,
what if we didn’t use our last breath
to remember our love, to seek the god we never bothered
to think about in life, to raise our hands to give forgiveness,
to the ones who are already fighting over our funeral cost, to sit
by the trashcan fishing out and reviewing
our stories, our lives, only to let out a sigh,
always a sigh.
what if we take out the meanest arrow
in our anger filled, no-longer-shaking arms
and shoot them down, not even bothering
with threats and pleadings. what if we end things
with the sky lit in red. what if we end
it all ourselves. without wait. it sounds clean, mean,
and better. better than all the things
we are allowed to do with our last drop of strength.”

“what’s the meanest arrow you’ve got?”

“Love can only be a safe haven, if we keep this distance” – Nayana Nair

.

There is a kind of spell
that doesn’t let love sink into my heart.
It keeps it all suspended
between the layers
of admiration and disbelief,
of trust and that nagging doubt
that I don’t really want to think about.

Like so many, I also believed
that this love-
the shining weakness of my heart,
is safe in the growing cavity of my chest.
That, if the world doesn’t touch me
and I do my part, and never reach out
as well,
then this will be my own small forever.

It will never be hollow
till I don’t test its reality.
It will okay, till I endure
the mocking laughter in my mind
and never think about anything else.
After all, how can I lose a feeling of my making
in a world where only I exist.

But in a world where only I exist
there is also nothing to distract me,
nothing to make me forget the imaginary nature
of my meaning,
nothing else can prevent the ripping apart,
nothing to support the falling structures.
And as I guessed, as I always knew
without ever wanting to admit –
it is just one another thing
incapable of being an eternal something.

This afterimage of another soul
that I try to indulge in,
couldn’t have been anything more than this anyway.
From here, this distance,
from where I can be seen favorably and loved deeply,
this distance
where I can summon in me the spirit of sacrifice
for the idea of this one pure love that I must protect at all cost,
this distance
that gives me a chance at love.

This distance also means
that love never touches
the rocks that my tears have turned into.
It also means that
in hiding everything vicious,
I have also hidden everything that could be me.

Somehow I have learnt to be okay with the fact
that this smile that I get, the kindness I receive
is because the weed that grows on me looks more beautiful
than I can ever be.
I have already dissolved in the earth
to sustain this beautiful face that I am determined
to be remembered for.
It is too late for sincerity.
Now even my hopes have been poisoned.

“Are those supposed to be words of comfort?” – Nayana Nair

.

I wish I could hug back the stars with a smile
even if it burns,
even if I suffer in that light.

But it is a light that I have now learnt to fear.
Now I know the power of reality,
of wounds, and the unbearable noise of past.

Now my every step towards my fear,
towards you
can never be love,
it can only be a sacrifice.
It can only mean my acceptance of my end
at the cost of this love
that promises to live on without me.
Should I find comfort in that,
now that I won’t find a life with you?

“Blue of our Minds” – Nayana Nair

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.

“Name a few” – Nayana Nair

Your hands were tired
of holding me together,
holding me to ground,
keeping me safe from myself
and my fate.
And when you were no longer there
I could go anywhere in the world,
live different lives,
and see the world anew.
Wait for the death
of my sorrow.
Or kill myself with what I am.
All this I have found
at the cost of
losing earth, me, and you,
to name a few.