“and soon it will be time” – Nayana Nair

.

in her two storey house
my doll sleeps on her silk sheets
with a knife resting beside her.
it shines
as if newly delivered and never used,
as if sharpened hundred times,
as if it has known the pain of blood every night,
every night cleaned
under the deafening noise of running tap water.
the metal mixes with her fears, with her trembling hands.
something again slips from her grasp.
and now it is time for tears,
and it will be soon time
for cycles of search and paranoia.
there is a time for every madness in her mind.
there is always a calm wait
before she reaches the next stage of hopelessness.
there is always a party hosted at the dead end of her lives
where she takes another drink,
and finds hands filled with warmth
and eyes that like the color of her healing skin,
the burned tips of her tongue, and her swallowed words equally.
but someone utters the wrong word,
looks at her the wrong way,
leaves the taps water, filled with smell of blood,
running in her mind again,
and again she lunges for the
the knife that fits in her hand better than any hope
and again she ends the song of her lover,
again she wakes up alone.

“SMALL WORLD” -Nayana Nair

I see these places that will remain

as strange as they are to me today.

I see these little people scattered on the streets.

I see them locked away in a world not their own.

This lonely expanse on this never ending piece of earth.

And I see these toy like cars and trucks.

Somehow they don’t belong together.

I try to guess (,to think)

what it feels like to live in such small world

and not on this huge earth.

I guess they don’t know what I see from here.

That life had a dead end.

And at that end

either

we can choose to be in tinier coffins

or

we can be a part of never ending sky

and this ever nourishing earth.