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“Closest” – Nayana Nair

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The cracking ground I kneeled on for answers
have become riverbeds where I’ll drown,
have become
the reason of my tears,
the reason of my broken voice
that travels along the lines
of the words I mutter
without knowing,
without meaning anything more
than to put my mouth into use.
I scratch the walls of the dreams I once painted
till the petals of colors cover my ground
only to reveal a the nightmare of empty hands.
I hold the petals, the chipped away paint
and feel the closest to my dream,
the closest I will ever be.

“Crimson”- Nayana Nair

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As they laughed,
I would see myself
laugh at the things
that I didn’t really understand.
I only understood the crismson lines
that were ready to snap under my skin
any moment I decided to pull myself out
from the trance that my hope had me in.
The hope that
maybe breathing the same air as them
would help me get rid of what I am.

“Lost” – Nayana Nair

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We found each other on an unfamiliar street,
lost in the vanishing promises and fickle feet,
on journeys of days
to all burnt down plays,
holding the copied out lines,
clutching the words we will never get to say.

“My Liberation” – Nayana Nair

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The first half of my life
was spent following the lines drawn by other
and second half spent on searching and choosing
the people who will draw those lines for me.
My liberation didn’t come as a cloudburst
but only as shower.
It only came as the the control of smaller
insignificant parts of greater machinery of life
that continues to  ignore my wish and my will.

“Held Down” – Nayana Nair

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Though I want to write of you
I find myself incapable of that.
Cause I have not yet learned the words
for the kind of person you are.
And all I have written about you,
the only thing that
can live in those lines,
is my heart that doesn’t yet know
how to love you.
The ‘you’ who cannot be held down
by any love.

“Home” – Nayana Nair

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I will give you a list houses
that once used to be my home
and addresses that are the only memory
that has not been blurred
or manipulated by my mind.
If you ever want to find me,
go there.

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You will see the line of trees that
framed my sunrise
and almost dry riversbeds of
round white stones, where
I slipped once (or more).
You will see the duststorms,
and the heavy rains
I stood in.
You will see the the intersections,
I could never quite cross.
But all this you see,
is not me.

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If you want to find the ‘me’,
‘me’ that I do not know of,
that I cannot give you,
go there.
And look for windows I sat by.
Look for the cold floor I lied on.
Sit there and think of a girl
who never felt quite like a person,
who could look at what lay ahead
and know
that neither the path, nor the journey was hers.
Who only wanted a room flooded with
gentle light of drowning sun,
and songs that could make her sadness beautiful.

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