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“Virtual Image” – Nayana Nair

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the image in mirror is never formed

I copied this slowly
from my friend’s notes,
reading too much into it.

I moved my hands
over the new definition of real.

I traced the lines, the dull path of light
as faithfully as I could
but the solid blue lines of ink touch the glass
and are broken cleanly by the laws of reflection, every time.

Only I am left in this world of real stuff
tracing back the path
that only their changed selves could have taken.

But what difference does that make?
People who have changed
do they even want those old dreams?

Probably not, for all I see are points abandoned,
in the world of unpublished fiction
surrounded by crosses of dotted lines,
like the ones that are meant to be torn slowly.

the image in mirror is never formed

But it is there, in front of me.
By some miracle they exist
even when they don’t.

Doesn’t that count as real?

The emptiness in me
and in it your face.

Doesn’t that count as real?

“Braid Your Love” – Nayana Nair

I couldn’t help but to love you,
this you,
that from your darkness pushed me away,
tried to save me from my choices.

***

When I told you that I loved you
for your selfless honestly,
you made up your mind to leave.

***

You told me as you packed your bag
that all honesty is not selfless,
that while you pushed me away
you knew that I would love you even more.

***

As a goodbye you braided my hair
with the flowers of your tear.
You left me with a letter,
when you robbed me of your shadow,
with ink dipped in concern,
saying that you wanted me to be better than
your second chance,
a daily pill to forget what you are,
a shoulder to bear your burden.
That only by rejecting the luxury
of being loved unconditionally,
could you ever learn to love
and see me as a human
who can bleed by loving too much.
That your leaving might be the only true gesture
that shows what you feel for me,
that it is the only thing you can do for me.

“Your News” – Nayana Nair

Another happy news
floats in the periphery of my vision.

-x-

Though it holds the love of those
who have found something to love,
something to live for-
it makes me restless.

I want to open these envelopes
and mean it
when i tell you
how happy I am for you,
but I am not.

-x-

I am sorry but I can’t be happy for you
because in your every word
that you have inked with excitement,
I am reminded that
I have never seen these same color in my own life.

When your letters find me,
they find me too broken.
I am sorry, I have lost too much of me already
and can no longer give you anything but empty words.

-x-

Live well dear.
Live your dream far away from me.
It will keep your happiness intact
and my bubble of ignorance unharmed.

-x-

One day
(if ever)
when I am no longer walking in my own darkness,
I will find you
and I will try to be the friend that you deserved to have.
But till then
I can only keep these letters unopened
and my happiness for you undelivered.

“All I Can Do” – Nayana Nair

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If all I can do
is to write up my pain
that will fill itself every morning again.
And hide the evidence of my weakness
on pages
that burn with longing for the fading ink,
the ink that longs to see
those eyes from whom they were meant to hide.
Then I am just moving my feelings
from one dark cage to another.
They continue to grasp for air,
even if the hands that choke them have changed.

Period

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Flowers-tumblr-flowers-33623873-500-374

As I finish the last line of a poem,
my ballpoint pen, whose ink ran out,
collapses, completely exhausted, on the blank page.
Have a good rest.
I will mark the period with my tear.

jrhfrj (3)

‘A Gentle Cow’ by Oh Sae-young

“Safe” – Nayana Nair

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My bare feet are as cold as

the marbled floor, it rests on.

And my heart is as fresh as

the smell of earth after rain.

My hands move on the rim of my glass

from which I drink up life.

And I close my eyes knowing

these bars will keep me safe.

I’ve got a key, to let in those

who care enough.

They keep me safe from the sick world

And from the cruel and the insane.

simple_tattoo_design_by_kupo_nut89-d4rx9s3.jpg

I take off my glasses

and they powder in my fist.

I blow them through the bars

on which they settle and seem like dust.

My feet seems to sink in the floor.

And the air is red with my screams.

There is ink on my fingers, on my tongue.

On the touch of shards of my broken glass.

I bleed blue.

It’s getting lonely here,

no one cares, no one visits.

simple_tattoo_design_by_kupo_nut89-d4rx9s3.jpg

I cannot stay here any more,

But my key doesn’t fit.

I look at those outside,

mocking me.

The bars were not to keep them out.

It was to keep me in.

images

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