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Tag Archives: hand

“Trace” – Nayana Nair

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I will trace your tears
through the meteor shower,
through the footsteps that you followed,
through the hands that you held,
through the hearts that you broke,
through the marks on your skin,
through the lost and found columns,
through the moist flower placed in you books,
through that crossed out name, on every page.
I will trace your tears
that will lead back to me.
and say what needs to be said.
An apology.
An apology that you never got.
An apology that you deserved.

“My Night sky” – Nayana Nair

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You dip your hand
in my heart,
kiss my poems
as they are.
You hold my pulse
in your wrist.
You hold my shadows
in your mist.
You can swim in the rivers of my night sky
studded with most beautiful words.
But I will be alone in my sadness
and you in yours.
For you cannot bleed with me
but only because of me.

“Name a few” – Nayana Nair

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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.

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“Be You” – Nayana Nair

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Oh! Let me be you.
Who walks with a sun in your pocket
for every rainy day.
Who stood at crossroads
and decided which road shouldn’t exist.
Let me be you for a day.
So that I am not the one
who hides in hollow words,
who makes her bed on the dreams of others.
Let me be you,
so that I can put out my hand
always with the confidence
knowing that the love I ask
shall be given.

But what is this that I feel?
Why my hands shake?
Why my heart cries?

Is it because
the one who is breaking the wall
with bare bleeding hands
has the same pain, same fear
as the one who is hiding behind that wall.
Is it because
this love, this life
leaves no one without scar.

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“Like You” – Nayana Nair

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The corners of the page
where my hand rest,
are smeared with a darkness
that reminds me of you.
And some things in life
are beautiful,
just because they are painful
and sad
and comforting,
just like you.

“Pocket” – Nayana Nair

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There are pockets in my shirt
where I occasionally find
some money I forgot to spend,
some scribbled paper
which seemed important
but was not.
I find ghost of your hands,
your fingerprints,
that I forgot to wash away.

“These Words”- Nayana Nair

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I stop reading.

I look at these clumsily scribbled words.

I look at these fine print.

And I reach out my hand

to the page

and touch these words

to know

whether they really exist.

I reach out

to grab onto that hand,

so I can come out of water

for a moment,

to take breath

and remember what it was like

to not drown.

For that moment

I keep reading.

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