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“What I Remember (26)” – Nayana Nair

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I covered up myself up-
hiding the pieces,
hiding the glue,
hiding the knife close to my heart.
There is too little time
and so much to be disposed,
so much has to be kept at the bottom of the stairs,
under the sheets,
under the hand that cupped my face
so that no one could say with certainty
whether I am laughing or crying or thinking
about the hands that will never touch my face again
or wondering why I can’t move away
or keep away from mines and alligators
and magma and my fearful heart and dark wells
and palaces that never sink or get ruined
completely and green roads of past and red
destinations in my hands and love for colors
that will not love me back and following the one
with tearful eyes and the thoughts of some end,
any end.
All this extravagance,
so that no one could see my see through my real feelings
being eaten up by imaginary words and scenarios.

“Imagining Difficulties” – Nayana Nair

3d09e649b1faafee39f11ee587524ee7--jeanette-winterson-galaxy-painting

The difficulty
of looking at empty roads
and imagining a crowd
in which I could
search for you.
Of looking at our life
imagining difficulties,
imagining hurdles to cross
to reach you.
But here you are
separated from me
by a sheet of decaying skin.
You are painfully near
and no guides have been written
to cross the gulf that separates us.

“Possible” – Nayana Nair

bird-39-s-eye-view-flight-storm

My heart feels like a sheet of ice.

With restless birds of pain

trapped forever,

fluttering around.

Making the world look dark.

Imitating my cries.

But as you pass by me,

your shadow on my heart

feels beautiful and painful.

Your shadow

looks like a barren tree,

where my pain can sit and chirp.

Though the ice doesn’t melt.

Though the pain remains.

But you also exist.

My rest, my sanity-

possible only by your existence.

“Frail Thread” – Nayana Nair

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tumblr_static_tumblr_static_4bgcgmy3u6asw8sc4kcogk40o_640

These lines that
connect to my heart,
pass through landscapes
devoid of human presence.
This frail thread
passes through valley of flowers
that have no color.
Through balconies overlooking
desolate streets and
sky crowded with stars.
Through stairs leading to floors
that no one visits.
Through the branches of old trees
broken in the storms.
Through abandoned toys in locked rooms
with no owners.
Through the warm sheets
where I rest with my dreams.
and bring loneliness of the world
that lies beside me,
while I wonder
why do I feel so hollow inside.

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