RSS Feed

Tag Archives: pieces

“Fine and Minute” – Nayana Nair

68747470733a2f2f692e70696e696d672e636f6d2f373336782f35632f36322f31632f35633632316334356631326464343664626339373033656561653432323336612d2d70696e6b2d706f7765722d72616e676572732d70696e6b2d

I thought I am getting better
when I found a little more space in me for life
than what I thought I had.
When I stopped trying to hide it from my own eyes
and let small birds perch on its rusted edges
all long as they please.
But when they fly away, their voices
slowly disappears and reappears
disperses and dissolves in the air,
reminding me of days I existed
in pieces so fine and minute
that
I found myself
lacking voice, wants, or ambition.
Slowly becoming the air and food for
someone else’s need.
I find that the pain never passes.
It only forgets itself until it touches
the edges that once cut through it.
But not everything it touches has that same edge
and between the sudden encounters
with the lookalikes of what I was,
I can rest, I can breathe.

“In my care” – Nayana Nair

Gobugi.(artist).full.1425265

How unfortunate
that your dream had to be about me.
That you placed all the pieces left of you
in that dream
and placed it in my care.
If only you had seen the cracked edges of mine
that were going to become your future.
If only I had known my incapability
to love or be loved.
I would not have to see your tears.
I would not have to ache this bad.
Why have you become the book I pick up every now and then,
but never have the courage to finish nor to give up.

“Beg ” – Nayana Nair

ND6A6304-2gotblog

Everything I look at
is sweet impression of your younger self
playing in the garden of my heart.
The shrads from this broken world
stuck in everything
around me.
Why is it that
when I look at a bus stop,
when I look at the sky,
when I look at the chairs,
when I look at my own hand,
they all remind me of you.
They all carry a part of you
even if they have never known your touch.
I have begged these vision
to get down from my eyes,
to come down from my heart.
I have begged them to become a poem.
I have begged them to live forever in you heart.

images (1)

You look at me
and I see the unfairness of a love like mine.
I have nightmares in which
there are pieces of broken stars
from your sky
lying at my feet.
I see words slashing at my wrist.
I see glares that mock my tears.
I see my battered skin
and the worst uses of makeup.
I see nights where I must stay up and cry.
I feel fear of something sleeping beside me,
I feel whatever I fear was once “you”.
In those nightmares
I have begged this pain-
to leave my mind
when I wake up and look at you again.
I have begged them
to become my poems.
I have begged them to die with me.

“JEWEL ROUND THE NECK”- Nayana Nair

Posted on

0

As this light streams into my shielded existence

To light up these lines and touch my soul.

I’m reminded of all the lights in past

That have done so before.

The light that scorched my skin, as I sipped melting ice.

The fiery orange haze around which we sang.

And the streaks of rainbows moving across our notes

From the scales we held in our hand.

The lazy and tired rays of sun

Finding their way through December mist

to reach multitude of small droopy eyes

And prayer chanting lips.

The mosaic of lights of shops and streetss

Where the light from the mirror revealed your smile.

The light in my eyes your presence brings.

The faint light of dawn that filled up my mind.

I wish to gather all such light

All the tiny relevant drops

Even irrelevant splashes

To string them into one

Incomplete jewel round the neck

With that last piece , last light missing.

I wonder what it would be like.

Would it be like my first forgotten light

Or will it be the light of your eyes,

That will see me off at the edge.

Where all pains and joys vanish.

Where bodies die and memories die.

And love becomes eternal with fading light.

michnavs

Poetry...in Motion

Ivor.Plumber/Poet

An Old Plumber, An Ex-Carer, An Amateur Poet, Words From The Heart

All About Life

Ideas and musings from a middle-aged 20 something

19 poems

the poetry of mia wright

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 )