RSS Feed

Tag Archives: hidden

“What I Remember (15)” – Nayana Nair

Posted on

I think of the clothes that are too tight or too loose for me,
of my skin that doesn’t like me the way it used to.
How the mirrors in my home are hidden
by the growing towers of books.
I wonder what this says about me?
I think of the fear that I feel when I am alone,
the fear that I feel when I walk into happiness.
I think of the kinds of fear that fill my heart.
I count them for a long time
but nothing happens when I finish counting.
I wonder if knowing myself
is really the first step to solving my life.
Do I want anything to be solved?
I count the people that who no longer speak to me
and half way through I remember
that it was me who had thrown them away first.
Silence is my weapon, not theirs.
I realize I need to always hold a grudge against someone
to live with strength.
I wonder when this strength became so important to me.
I wonder when this love that felt like a lemonade in summer
actually became a commercialized product
with an expiry date stamped on it
before it even reaches our hands.
I think of my skin by which I am stuck to a world like this.
I wonder why I pretend to be better than this world by saying such stuff?
Why am I so into acting all deep and philosophical?
I wonder why I love to call myself broken even though I hate to be seen so?
Don’t misunderstand me.
I do not want answers.
Answers are painful and pointless,
answers are a tasteless end
to the struggle that otherwise makes my heart bleed colors.

“Dripping Doubts” – Nayana Nair

This loud and constant dripping of doubts
is this all I need to mute, to mask,
the voices of people who have known me too less,
who have loved me more than they needed to.

. . .

I am filled with fear, tempted to run away
when they make sacrifices for my happiness,
to stay by my side.
I know what I feel should be love,
but all I feel is burden-
a knife
that pierces my skin and feelings
testing how thick is my concern,
seeing how far it can go
before it finds the cold bone hidden in me.
I bleed to little
and give up too soon.
It all ends before it even begins.
This all was a bad idea to begin with.

“Flower Everyday” – Nayana Nair

Walk towards me
with no hidden agendas,
only openly declared intention to use me
for gaining whatever you want.
Call it love, if only it makes you feel better.
Not for my sake.
For me, it only makes it worse.

x

Walk away
with apparent contempt
at what is left of me,
when everything in me wilted.
I know you can only love the spring and its freshness;
the gentle and the forgiving.
I understand, so leave with a light heart.
It was too much trouble anyway
to flower everyday,
to hide my sorrow every time you looked at me.
My real skin is now almost colored in the darkness
that it was hidden in.

x

Thank you for always holding my sleeve
and not my hands.
Thank you for not staying too long.
Thank you for being forgettable

“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.

“Only Me” – Nayana Nair

a7defe06c4783d25e272ddfab3903d8a

Stay here with me.
Everyone else has forgotten you dear.
Only me,
it is only me that carries you everywhere it rains,
everywhere the Sunday morning starts with empty table and aching heart,
everywhere the number blinking in my phone is not yours.
It’s only me
that wakes up in this nightmare of life
clutching what should have been your hand,
that walks into every shops that would have caught your eye.
It isn’t easy to walk into stores
and think of your absent giggles
as my only future that would never arrive.
It isn’t easy
but I can do it.
I can keep a space for you
everywhere I go,
I can keep aside an extra plate for you.
I can live as if you are here
if only you’d stay hidden with me.
They have forgotten you dear,
their thoughts are scared to linger around graves.
It is only me that calls out your name.

“Poster” – Nayana Nair

Posted on

r4-K4Hu-

I thought I would only have one poster
when I decided to clearly define what I am.
I stuck it up only after careful consideration.
Consideration of the space it takes.
Consideration of the how much I am allowed to grow.
Condsideration for the things that will be hidden away and
lost under the layer of this paper,
which is necessary
maybe only for me.
And soon when my smile changed a bit,
I had to get new poster.
When I could no longer sing along to my favoutite song,
I had to get a new poster.
When my legs became more noticeable than my words,
I had to get a new poster.
When my dreams felt hollow, I had to get a new poster.
But the soon I ran short of space.
Soon the only way to continue seeing myself for what I am
was to cover up what I was once.
To make space for another me
to exist another day.
All this
so that I do not wake up one morning
not knowing who I am.

“Great Escape” – Nayana

Drawing

Even on this side of the mirror,
in the world of shining surfaces
and sharp and dissolving images,
I have found myself
looking for clues of this fabricated world;
of trying to look for a secret trapdoor
and hidden rooms,
for a way out of here.
Not thinking even once what it meant
to be out of this world.
And even if I make it out
that world that my heart can hold
from afar,
can it witstand the touch
of a person made of light and glass?
No great escape.
No new world, no new word,
can make me more real
than the image I am.

The Milos-Ivanski Studio

Featuring the work of Lori Milos-Ivanski

Don't Eat It! Soap and Skin Care

Handcrafted Soap, Bee Keeping, Farming and More

WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY

Strolling around SE Michigan & sending joy in the journey.

Priscilla Bettis, Author

The making of a horror novelist.

Silent Hour

Poetry and prose by Basilike Pappa

ForgivingConnects

A Safe Place to Share Your Stories

simon.jacob

The Journey Begins

Park Bench Tales and other writings

Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist

Pix to Words

Photographically Inspired Writing

Il Canto delle Muse

La cosa importante è di non smettere mai di interrogarsi. La curiosità esiste per ragioni proprie. Non si può fare a meno di provare riverenza quando si osservano i misteri dell'eternità, della vita, la meravigliosa struttura della realtà. Basta cercare ogni giorno di capire un po' il mistero. Non perdere mai una sacra curiosità. ( Albert Einstein )

Cichy zakątek poezji

Miłość nie istnieje w sobie, ale w nas, jest naszym osobistym dziełem. " - Marcel Proust

La poesía, eso decían

Como plasmar la idea natural.

/ɛm/ɛn/piː/

- MyNewPerspective ... seeing the world through different eyes -

Poesíainstante

Personal e íntimo

Something to Ponder About

Lifestyle, Travel, Traditional Art and Community

Tittle Thoughts

Discussions on life influences and travels

Colțul Cultural

repaus cu cap