“How Easily”-Nayana Nair

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The rain has left
leaving behind puddles
and mud sticking to the sole of my clean clean shoes.
But this muddy road I walk on
it glistens like diamonds
under the streetlight.
And picture seems more beautiful, feels more beautiful
than what I expected it to be.

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 Slowly my eyes, absorb this picture
and it dawns on me.
How lovely it is
to walk alone
on this road,
to feel the cold and dampness,
to feel the drizzle,
with the curtain of dark night hanging on this cityscape
and the land illuminated in orange light.

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I realize how easily
we can forget about the things we love
or used to love.
And how easily they will creep back
into our heart
when we least expect.

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“SMALL WORLD” -Nayana Nair

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I see these places that will remain

as strange as they are to me today.

I see these little people scattered on the streets.

I see them locked away in a world not their own.

This lonely expanse on this never ending piece of earth.

And I see these toy like cars and trucks.

Somehow they don’t belong together.

I try to guess (,to think)

what it feels like to live in such small world

and not on this huge earth.

I guess they don’t know what I see from here.

That life had a dead end.

And at that end

either

we can choose to be in tinier coffins

or

we can be a part of never ending sky

and this ever nourishing earth.

“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?

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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?

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Kiss me, remind me

Why we are here?

Can you lessen my pain?

Can you free me?

You smile.

Of course, you can.

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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.

“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