“Stories about me” – Nayana Nair

There have been numerous accounts
of my failing life
and the reasons of my silence.
And these stories never cease to surprise me.
From time to time
I find the people in my life
have had a story about me
all along
that even I was not aware of.
Their uncalled kindness
and their uncalled cruelty
all had an explanation.
Explanations that had nothing to do with me.
In everyone’s heart their is someone by my name.
They have put me in colors
when I always was in grays.
I find
I never had a friend.
And I find them lonely
just like me,
when I look at the people
I have colored myself.

“Must Run” – Nayana Nair

I knew in that moment
that I must run out into the darkness
and find a way
that even the streetlights avoid.
Find a place with no roads
where flowers of new season
will hide my unsure steps.
I knew I had to run away
Or I will never be the same.
So that I don’t loose everything
I (almost) have.
I must run back to that house in wilderness
that I left behind,
to the life I left behind.
So that there are no more graves
of my loved ones
with my name as the murderer engraved.

“Coffee Shop” – Nayana Nair

I am sipping my 27th cup of coffee
waiting for the shop to get crowded,
so people will not eye me with suspicion or pity.
So I can be in company of people
who have nowhere to go, like me.
For whom, home is just a place you run away from.
I wait for the sun to set.
I wait for the sounds of your approaching footsteps.

I see you make your way
to the table behind me.
I don’t have to look, to know it’s you.
I know you much more than I should.
We have lived together for too long.
And you wouldn’t know me
even if you saw my face.
You have only known yourself,
your world knows nothing but you.

And slowly the seats around you
are filled one by one.
And empty chairs
are being drawn and dragged around you.
And with these strangers
I hear my stories from
your mouth that seem like
the only warmth in their life.
I hear every word you say,
I hear it everyday
waiting at this shop.
To hear, if you ever came to miss me.
Ever said my name with a melancholy
of losing something precious.
If in the stories you tell,
if you could still see me.
If for a moment I could hear you utter word “love”
with my name in its periphery.

I do not love you.
I’m not here to claim you back.
Not here to prove my eternal undying love.
I am just waiting in this cold
to know
that when I sold you my life,
when you used up my story
what you did with me?
Am I there in that heart?
Or at the bottom of some frozen lake?
I need to start looking for it.
And I don’t know where to start.