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“Permanent” – Nayana Nair

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my sad winter sunshine
i am here for you.
we can stay sad for however long you want.
don’t worry,
i don’t remember the happy you.
i am not hanging around to see your other face.
i have no affection
for what you are trying to become again.

i loved rain once.
now snowfall is my new thing,
you are my new thing-
my old love in a new skin.
the sky is endless, the time infinite
we have long way to go
before we become anything permanent.

“What I Remember (13)” – Nayana Nair

i did all that i must do
and now no one asks me what’s next.
thankfully,
no one burdens me with with their dreams anymore.
i am no longer a possible candidate for the worst,
for taking over the misfortune of my mother’s life.
i no longer have to worry about hurting my parents by
being like them or living like them.
thankfully,
what bothers me, what eats me up
is nothing that would keep anyone else awake
and that is important.

in spite of this emptiness i write about
and this loneliness that seems bigger than this world,
all this do not stop me
from laughing at jokes, craving for food that i shouldn’t eat,
dreaming of another broken love with my only lover,
from having a good time – that i will conveniently forget.
nothing i cry about, no ailing that lives in me
is too large to stop me from living.

i guess i carry an instability in my genes.
if my eyes are in the color of sadness,
i guess i got it from my parents.
and they are lovely people who somehow raised me right
in spite of having a tendency to mess up things
and their sadness with life.

tomorrow i will probably hate them frequently again
but they will nag at me when i reach home drenched in rain,
will tell me sit straight and force me to eat what will keep me alive,
will ask me to keep my phone down,
and sleep a little bit more.

they will not ask what’s wrong and that will disappoint me,
but they will let me do what i want to do (sometimes)
and they will try their best not to wrong me.
they will wish for my happiness,
even if they have no idea what makes me happy
and that is important.

because though i lived my extended teenage
believing that i had no one,
but it was not true.
i saw no one
and it is my fault.
even when i thought i was not loved
they have loved me silently.
though it was a tiring love,
it knew no end.

“Short lived season of comfort” – Nayana Nair

Any seat that I was comfortable occupying
was always unbearably cold.
People were right when they said
that something was not right with me.
For my flesh wanted to become fresh snow,
my bones the lone tree
under which sat my soul-
a child learning to count
the years of cold and whiteness,
an innocent, forgetful, and aging brain
living in a world
with no song, no spring, no rain,
to remind of all that is lost.

“What I Remember (12)” – Nayana Nair

hailstones.
that’s what i remember.
when the stones fell
onto the already breaking roofs of our class,
the girl who sat three rows ahead
stopped reading.
everyone who was busy day dreaming,
who had shut their ears to every useless fact that we come to learn,
knew how to listen to this,
to this violence that could hurt but won’t.

i sat there listening,
wondering if my skin would also be able bear
what this tin sheet roof can,
if my classmates would look at me
understand their violence that could break me but hasn’t yet.

maybe it was our silence,
maybe it was the teachers glare
that made it stop,
made the loud shrieking rain to end.
and when she left
the stones had already turned into dripping water.
the kids wanting to forget
the trauma of being silenced,
of having their dreams interrupted,
of being reminded of their helplessness
recited incidents that didn’t happen,
tried to laugh a little louder than usual,
made another joke at the expense of someone like me
and so my only memory of hailstone
was also reduced to the din of students (who never liked me).

i closed my books and pretended to be asleep
while everyone ate and talked to their friends.
i waited for everyone to leave
so I could eat alone
without being ashamed for being left alone.
“hailstones”.
i said the word aloud in that empty classroom.
i had one more words now
to describe these kids who scared me by their meanness,
who made me like the prospect of loneliness.

“Anything but Gray” – Nayana Nair

Once I could write of rains
and the pain they bring.
Today I am afraid of the umbrellas, of shelters,
of the short-lived moments
of what I used to call happiness,
of the ill-planned escapes from cells
filled with my own darkness and filth.

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How have I grown into this person
who recognizes only one face,
that is my own.
Can my selfishness be something
that I can blame someone else for?
Is this also some form of loneliness?

“You’d be proud of me” – Nayana Nair

Just wanted you to know

that I am doing well,

that I miss you even when I shouldn’t,

that you’d be proud of me
if you saw how good I have become
at evading love,

that I am doing all that I wanted,

that without the barriers of your love
my life stands in luminous warm sun
and in the depressing beautiful rain as well,

that I miss you
but don’t want you back yet,

that I am slowly growing into the woman
who knows how to love someone
as good and twisted as you,
though I won’t get to love you again.

“Questions on Eternity” – Nayana Nair

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The winter rains
have found me again
but only without you.
They ask me of I still believe in eternity
and I choose not to answer
because I am living in one,
even if it not the one I wanted.
Your sweet face and words,
that are no longer yours,
is the only analgesic sleep
I get in this tiring and painful existence.
I am promised
that there is only one who will look after me,
there is only one who is mine.
But can I actually believe in one love.
Isn’t it too tragic?
For there are many that will never stick around
in spite of their love or mine.
There are many for whom all this is nothing more
than the time they have spent on strangers,
to run from themselves.
And if I find myself
alone at the end,
am I supposed to wait for all those who live to leave?
Am I the only one who is supposed to wait and suffer?

***

While the whole world scratches out their own words
realizing it as idiotic and impractical,
but still wanting the weight of this ideal
to be carried by others.

***

They want to roam the world
and come back home to find food and bed made with love,
not minding the responsibility of waiting
that they have put on someone else.

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