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“my dying love for lemonades and other similar things” – Nayana Nair

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In my wardrobe
I have hidden skeletons of you and me
from last year, from the year before,
even the year that never was (as per your memory).

When my head aches from the mention of all the light
I am supposed to see in life

(according to the countless articles on positive thinking),

when I have had enough, but can’t mention it
on the face of well-meaning people

(the handbook of gratitude tells me I should forgive
everything that is done by well meaning folks-
I mean EVERYTHING, have you heard anything more preposterous)

when all the scenarios I used to complain about
become my best case scenario

(it feels like every inch in my home
is occupied with people that I am told not to hate
phew! - you know how forgiveness is not exactly my thing)

when I fail at acting fine, as you taught me to-

I sit among those skeletons
have no care about being with the clothes
that they will never get to wear,
who don’t have a heart to be ruined by.

I try to find comfort
in the thought, in the fact
that an year from now
I will be here,
that I will be the part
that dies by the next spring.

I won’t have to live on to become the part of me
that would hate lemonades, love and laughs.

“Experiment” – Nayana Nair

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The unopened letters,
the calls never picked,
the feelings cut as a bud,
the door knocks I chose to ignore-
cover my ground in color of hope.
Hope?
Yes, hope.

Like the messed up experiment
of Schrodinger’s fictional pet,
I continue to see hope
till I keep my heart closed.
Are you still there inside me?
Or are you long gone?

I do not need to know.

The replica of this world,
that exists inside my head-
it will stand, it can endure
as long as I do not know
the answers to such question.

“Rainbows and Reflection” – Nayana Nair

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I always thought
that I could be happy,
really happy,
forever happy,
if only I could make myself love happiness.

Though I approached this strange kid,
though I pretended to be good
and as holy as humans can be,
I had nothing to say this ever smiling child.
All the standard stories
I had prepared for this heavy chore
of presenting myself to this world,
were not for her ears.

I could never make myself fill her head with such darkness.
Why should she know of the categories of suffering and where I fit,
about the worth that every person has to earn.
This kid looked at rainbow and reflections with marvel,
prayed before every meal, believed in every story told.
There was nothing I could say to her.
I could not make her see me, befriend me, understand me
without changing her into me.

Only my love for this happiness
stands in my way
of the heaven I have dreamt in futile.

“Shopping in the HATE section” – Nayana Nair

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should i thank you
for becoming the faceless stranger
that i dread the most?

you are the new voice inside my head.
less of a voice, more of a threat.

how should i make you happy?
how can i shut you up?-
is all i think about.
i want to grow up
and grow out of this mind
that can’t take even this shallow critique.
but i can’t.
how can I confront you
when you may actually be correct about me?

what should i do?
remain a nothing till your attention shifts?
learn to cry without being bashed for my weakness?

but at least I am glad I am not your type,
that I am not the excuse
you would use to pull someone else down.

so goodbye “the embodiment of my self-doubt”
thank you giving me another grief to write about,
for speaking your mind and taking away my voice.

“What I Remember(5)” – Nayana Nair

No it is not an escape anymore
because
it is not only me
who is into these addictions of milder kind.
All I want is what everyone already has.
Don’t worry these books and music I get high on
don’t alter my perception of reality
like they used to before.
So I am fine with irrelevant goals of
having one more book to read, one more page to fill up,
and some hours to sit and stare at screens of literature of a cruder form.
They may not constitute the real meaning of life.
But I have not seen anyone who is particularly worried
about missing the real point of life.

. . .   .   .     . 

I know this consumerism and media culture irritates you.
That I look like one of the thousands who sit and demand
to be entertained, to be fed with something other than
the reality of insufficient time and cash.
Would it make me more real, would your gaze become more softer
if I bring up a portion of my life where I was hurt by this world,
when the reality didn’t change just because of my disappointment in it.
That not everyone can be one with the nature and one with society,
when nature is far away from where we are locked,
when society is all about waiting for someone else
to mess up on a grander scale than us.
See that is what I don’t want to talk about.
It is depressing enough to live it.
We can either discuss about how I almost found friend in a fictional character,
found a mirror or even a window in another,
how I do not agree with most reviews,
how I couldn’t get the tragic end of the story out my head.

. . .   .   .     . 

I don’t mind sitting in front immaculate shows of lies
if that is where the my temporary relief of my life is hidden,
at least we are entitled to that much – relief.

“One Less Lie” – Nayana Nair

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There are promises that I wanted to make
but knew I could never fulfill.
The imaginary me
that lives in my head
comes up with words too beautiful to last.
So I must swallow them before they reach my lips,
before they reach you ears,
so that there will be one less person disappointed in me
when I am broken down by all that I thought was beneath me.

“Crib and Complain” – Nayana Nair

love-you-bigger-than-the-sky-jodi-leigh

Let me crib.
Let me complain
and let me regret it,
and say again and again
that I never meant a word that you found mean.
I am unusually irresponsible.
I have a ledger
filled with all that I must truly care for.
I only forget to look at it
and act on it.
Even if I am not actually a cold person
I won’t mind it if you describe me so.
I will brush it off
and probably fashion a passive-hatred for you
from all that I act doesn’t bother me.
When it all gets out of my head
and burns your heart,
I will let you crib.
I will let you complain.
and when you say again and again
that you never meant a word that I found mean,
I will believe you.
I hope that will be enough for us to last
longer that the time we could ever predict
if we let each other be mean sometimes, get hurt,
create a drama and forget it when it’s the other’s
turn to loose the mess in mind.

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