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“Childhood Photo” – Nayana Nair

i do not want to be a child
who thinks that the world is this window
where i wait for you to return.
but i am.

and you are also the one
who has promised to never return.
but you have made many promises
and you have broken so many of it.
i guess i am counting on you
to stay true to who you are
and break another one.

i have done well on all my exams.
i have cleaned my room.
i have eaten all the greens.
you will be able to love me now.

they say you found love late
and the ones in love never return
to the loveless families
they want to forget.
have we been forgotten?
are we your embarrassing childhood photo?

mother cries a lot these days
and so i can’t cry anymore.
i can’t cry anymore
and i hate you for taking away my tears.

“Recreate” – Nayana Nair

Posted on

Interior-of-Reconstructed-Dylan-Thomas-Writing-Shed-Laugharne

They recreated his room
with reverence
to his life
and his passions.
Paid attention to each small details
that can bring back who he was.
They debated over whether he would have
had photos of certain people
in the room where he wrote
or better, have crumpled paper
that got stepped over.

bfl

But to be honest
they had no idea of who he was
whatever they recreated,
was not him.

bfl

Maybe his poems were just pieces of him
that he either rejoiced
or loathed.
I believe there must be parts of him
that he was not aware of,
parts of him that he never got to pen,
which he was too busy to ignore.
What if his life was not worth the show?
What if he could only be himself
outside that room?

“IMAGES”- Nayana Nair

(Image taken from pigarot.deviantart.com)

As I glance through the photos, those images,

That I have kept secure in my dairy’s pages.

I point to an image and exclaim “That’s me!!”,

An image which shows what I used to be.

A captured image, the moment of joys,

A point in the past when I had a choice.

Innocence of face and equally of heart,

That innocence in itself was a work of art.

That happiness, that joy, that freedom of mind,

And many more things I’ve left behind.

And surrounding me were genuine smile,

No knowledge of etiquettes, no care for style.

But now the person in the mirror is no longer me,

I look for my footsteps that have been washed away by the sea.

A feeling as if I’ve lost a part of me in the dark alleys I came from,

A feeling of hatred against the person I’ve become.

I search for myself in the ruins of the past,

In the shadows of images that won’t ever last.

 

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