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“MISREAD” -Nayana Nair

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I have stacks and heaps of poems I have misread.

Where I filled the blanks

which were not meant to be filled.

Where I was supposed to stand stupefied by absurdity of life

I tried to find some order , some reason.

Where I was supposed to sit and listen to worries

I gave advice.Or worse, interfered in lives not mine.

It was always about what I could give to life,

than what life has given to me.

So I have suffered long

trying to fill silences in heart

and words in blank pages.

And never to have made a difference.

Never to have known the beauty

of being incomplete and unfinished.

 

“CARPET” -Nayana Nair

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On the 8’x10′ beige carpet that you chose

We lie together, spooning.

Of all the possibilities I had for myself

Never was this a part.

Never had I thought of a caressing hand

Holding me together.

Of eyes filled with passion

Transfixed on me.

Of another skin , this close to mine.

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And slowly your grips tightens.

You hold me down.

Hold me captive in a heart so dear to me.

And I see all my dreams in front of me.

Are you making them come true?

Or are they leaking out of me?

Through the cracks made by strikes

Of your once loving hands.

Is their fading away their

Last goodbye to me?

Print

But it’s a loss I can live with.

Tell me your dreams,

To fill the spaces that mine occupied.

Or tell me of a way to get mine back

Without having to leave you.

Tell me of love, your love.

Let my heart be consoled by that.

Tell me of how I once was,

Before you. I can’t remember,

Do you?

Print

Kiss me, remind me

Why we are here?

Can you lessen my pain?

Can you free me?

You smile.

Of course, you can.

Print

So I close my eyes and wait.

Wait patiently for my release.

I wait till I feel

The blade on my neck

And your breath on my back.

So this is love, isn’t it?

A slow death.

A silent wait.

Dripping blood

And a red carpet.

“Dolls”

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I’ve broken a promise I made so true;
But my heart, my darlings, is broken too

 

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-Dolls: Poem by Robert William Service

“JEWEL ROUND THE NECK”- Nayana Nair

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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.

“CURSE”-Nayana Nair

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To wander free

And still be held captive in your life, in your fears.

To giggle and smile

While you drown in your own tears.

To deny all help with a ‘no’

while inside you cry out for ‘yes’.

To be lost to yourself

But still hoping to be found.

To be doing one thing

And being another.

To be split in two

And still be one.

To be torn apart between

the should and want.

To love-not wholly

To be loved-not enough

A love-never complete.

To be your own greatest enemy

And your sole best friend.

Running from yourself

Is no escape.

For this curse which you dread

Is the darkness which you’re drawn to.

The curse of being afraid to die

And yet afraid to live.

“MY STAR”- NAYANA NAIR AND NIKKI

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Stars were studded on ink stained sky,

Like memories and tears making life worthwhile.

Though the stars must have dazzled any mortal eye,

The moon had no care for my hopes and smiles.

 

It refused to shine the path I tread,

That silent street, with kindness dead,

And poems of glory unheard, and unread,

Where my promising future and disappointing life met.

Only a star high in the sky,

Chose to believe in me and kept me alive,

Through hopeless hours

And darkening nights.

 

At last when I found my awaited morning,

It was for the night, the star I had all the longing,

But the star was not to be seen,

As if it had never been.

 

The star that had once shined,

Not for anyone but for me

I’ll bet this life each second, each hour

For a glimpse of that lonely star.

“TO WRITE” – Nayana Nair

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I wonder sometimes how nice it would have been If I could write. Though not just write, but being able to write those beautiful words that can inspire somebody, that stays in their heart and if lucky enough move them to tears. That wouldn’t be just nice …that would be the best thing that I could have. But sadly, it seems as one of my favorite blog writers said “there are people who have stories and there are people who can write”. And it seems that I can’t be categorized under neither of them. Nor do I have stories and neither can I write.

I do try, try to think of stories. And rarely, it does occur that, I’ll get some pretty good idea. But then I’ll spend days , nights and months, trying to expand this idea into a story. But maybe I expand too much, then the idea becomes bleak amidst all I would have thought up. So before I forget them, I try to write down whatever I would have come up till that point of time. The first two pages are quite nicely written, but then after some days I end up with loads of rubbish scribbled on paper, that deserve only one place: dustbin. So, my all efforts to do something related to writing is just a waste of time. But the problem is even though experience proves that I’m an awful writer, it seems I can’t get hold of that idea, nor do I think I’m ready to accept that reality. Maybe I’m wishing that if I keep writing, if I keep trying, my dream will come true. But maybe all dreams don’t come true, irrespective of the fact how much you try. And maybe this is what I am, and maybe I’m trying to be something I’m not…how can you succeed at that.

But then a part of my brain says: maybe I’m trying too hard. trying too hard to write what you can appreciate, what people can appreciate, what can be worthy enough , good enough to be called an art. And maybe I’m being too hard on myself, by judging what I write too harshly. And I believe that is the real cause of my problems, my worries, my feeling of failure in this area…that I’m not being myself. That I’m not trying to put into paper what I feel just the way it is, but editing and modifying it such that it matches some criteria to be good enough. In this editing maybe I loose what all I want too say. And I end up with this bundle of paper with soulless writing. Where I was trying to hard to be someone else, the writers I look up to.

But that is not at all the purpose of writing is it? I mean writing should be projecting yourself, your creativity and your thoughts on that paper. To put a part of you on a sheet, that won’t change with time, that won’t change with you, that won’t change with people. It just remains what it is, something just for yourself. Maybe that’s why I write, to put myself on that sheet, if I don’t I get suffocated, maybe I’m not trying to be a writer, I’m doing what gives me relief, what gives me peace. Peace to put down all the voices into your head in front of you so they finally make sense. Peace that when I read what I wrote, I don’t feel lonely, I don’t feel alienated but somehow find a way to identify myself with people , who are trying to find myself. That self that is changing every minute, to understand the only thing what I want, why I think the way I do, to know how  do I affect the lives of people around me (in a good way or bad). And I end up seeing in those insignificant lines that I’m like everyone…I want happiness, I want love, I want a sense of self respect, I want people to acknowledge and accept me as I am, I want to deal with loss, pain and confusion I have. That’s what everyone is trying to do here. That feeling of knowing that you fit in this world…maybe that what gives me pleasure of writing.

I don’t know whether that perspective will get me anywhere in life. But I’m kind of enjoying where I am right now. To know and to understand that life’s not fair to anyone. And I should accept it. Even I’ve not been fair to everyone, so why should I deserve anything else. Only when I accept that, I can see, that amidst this loss, pain and confusion (that I have lot, which you can guess by the number of times I use word ‘maybe’) there always was love, there was an understanding, I just didn’t see it. That part of life that kept me alive, that made me hope for a better tomorrow, which gave me the strength and patience to endure one another day even when days were hopeless. It was love of all these people I never thanked, and who didn’t need my thanks to be with me, that kept me alive, and through what I write I want to keep them alive, I want to keep alive the kindness people have shown me , I want to keep alive the smile and the embrace that made me feel worthy enough for all happiness, the small help I received from even the strangers. But then I also want to keep alive those who hurt me, those who weren’t worthy of words called “love” and “trust”, who back stabbed, who lied and cheated. I want to keep them alive so that someday, someone who feels lonely comes across these lines I wrote, and feel what I felt when I penned them down, the feeling that they fit in. That they are not alone. The way the poems I read, the books I read, the movies I saw gave me the very same feeling. The feeling that I’m not alone. If I can do that for someone, that would be the worth all the efforts I put into writing, and all the papers that found their way to trash.

“MORNINGS, AFTERNOONS AND EVENINGS” –Nayana Nair

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Mornings I’m up, I sit up and gaze,
To follow a train of thought, that I can’t even trace.
Afternoons are dull, with stillness all around.
I eat and lie down listening to some songs,
Or sometimes I doze off reading something,
It drowns all the voices in my head, some peace that brings.
Evenings, as usual are spent in laughter with a tea,
As sitting there I try to convince myself of what I really feel.
Its nights that are horrible for me,
As I realize how futile has my day gone by,
How I was running blindly in every direction I found,
Just to return to what I was running from.
Not to confront the loss, and its pain,
And all efforts to ignore them gone vain.
As I find my thoughts going back to then again,
To the reality there was and only loss that can be,
For when you hurt me, and when you lied,
And when you faked grief when I cried,
When you spoke about me behind my back.
Laughing at my pain, and discuss what all I lack.
When for a stranger you left me all alone.
I realized I’ve lost you now.
Maybe I’d lost you long ago,
Or maybe I’d never lost you,
for how can I loose what I never found.
So as these mornings, afternoon and evening go by,
I do not grieve for you, nor I ever will,
And it is not for you that in sorrow I lie,
Nor it is for you that my heart is bitter and still,
And I’ll never shed a tear, for the kind of friend you were.
And never in my lifetime would I wish you were here.
But my only loss, only sorrow is what I’ve really lost,
My real loss was the loss of trust in myself.
And loss of my carefree trusting mind.
And loss for the heart that cared and believed
And losing a part of me, that I can never find
For all I’ve suffered, you were not worth this loss,
And I did not deserve this pain,
To try to find what is not there,
For my mornings, afternoons and evenings, can never be mine again

“VOICES”- Nayana Nair

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And for the times I’ve hurt you,

and have made you feel small,

and when life was a mess and

about us you weren’t sure at all.

Don’t take my words to heart,

as for me there can never be a new start,

past haunts me and destroys my present,

its like voices only I hear,

that make me appear insane,

I live with these voices,

that speak of uncertainty,

and sing tales of broken trust,

and lulls a song of doubt in me,

and fill my life with fear.

They cloud my judgement ,

alter my view.

makes me behave the way I do.

I want to make them stop,

but I don’t know how,

And if they’ll live with me till I die,

and if I’ll hurt my loved ones till that day,

why wait so long when that day can be today.

And what pains more is,

its me who’s hurting you,

and I can do nothing about it.

I would have left these voice behind,

only if the would let go of me.

They whisper day and night,

of long ago betrayals ,

and how it’ll happen again.

They tell me , everyone can hurt me,

and they’ll do so given a chance.

They tell me that I’m not worthy of any love,

and should be beware of those,

who promise me the same.

For those will be the one’s who’ll make me laugh,

and make me feel good and special,

and one day out of blue, they’ll change,

and leave me abandoned with few more voices and unhealed scars.

And they tell me that to be indifferent,

lonely and cold-hearted is what I must do,

and never should I gift my trust to another,

for it’ll be a gift thrown away after being misused.

And what hurts me is that,

my fears are gifting you too some scar.

And spreading that same fear in your heart,

and same voices will haunt you like me,

and your scars will remind of the bad person I was.

My fears, my voices will then yours too,

and to protect myself from the illusion of threat,

that the voices create, I fear I’ll hurt you too.

and we’ll both be then broken souls,

who’ll have someone else to blame.

And that I’ll be reason of the pain you’ll suffer,

and you’ll never be able to trust someone again,

That in return of you love,

all I can give, is these voices and these fears,

as its all that I have and is all that I am,

its all I can be and all that I’m left with.

But I too selfish to let go of you,

for you’re the cure to these voices,

and your love, your look and your embrace,

make me feel that all pain is bearable,

And I feel in those few moments with you,

there’s hope, there’s love and there is still a chance left.

A chance to see this world for what it is ,

through your eyes, for once I’ll be what I could have been.

Sonnet XVII- Pablo Neruda

 

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

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