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Tag Archives: story

“Better without us” – Nayana Nair

Posted on

Old Book Hands Dust Desktop Wallpaper

The dust that lay on the page
that I left open long ago
is now a page on it’s own,
with a story its own.
I look at it and read
negligence and loneliness.
I read how things are forgotten
so easily
and how things are treated as things
by people who
live their life accumulating things
and rest half of it
misplacing, destroying,
replacing and forgetting them.
How people are treated on similar lines
but worse.
How we come back to claim our possessions
when they can clearly exist better
without us.

uu

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“Flower” – Nayana Nair

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I pluck one leaf at a time
from this flower, this script
my life is.
I throw them from bridges
on cold evenings.
I bury them in the soil
that soils their print with time.
I burn them to ashes,
so they won’t smell the same.
I hang them on trees
that will never bear fruits.
To leave this story of mine
everywhere and nowhere.
So that you may find it.
So that you may not find it.
But
I wear the last page, last leaf
with only one word, you name, written,
on my finger
as substitute for you hands
that I can no longer hold.

“Coffee Shop” – Nayana Nair

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I am sipping my 27th cup of coffee
waiting for the shop to get crowded,
so people will not eye me with suspicion or pity.
So I can be in company of people
who have nowhere to go, like me.
For whom, home is just a place you run away from.
I wait for the sun to set.
I wait for the sounds of your approaching footsteps.

coffeeeee

I see you make your way
to the table behind me.
I don’t have to look, to know it’s you.
I know you much more than I should.
We have lived together for too long.
And you wouldn’t know me
even if you saw my face.
You have only known yourself,
your world knows nothing but you.

coffeeeee

And slowly the seats around you
are filled one by one.
And empty chairs
are being drawn and dragged around you.
And with these strangers
I hear my stories from
your mouth that seem like
the only warmth in their life.
I hear every word you say,
I hear it everyday
waiting at this shop.
To hear, if you ever came to miss me.
Ever said my name with a melancholy
of losing something precious.
If in the stories you tell,
if you could still see me.
If for a moment I could hear you utter word “love”
with my name in its periphery.

coffeeeee

I do not love you.
I’m not here to claim you back.
Not here to prove my eternal undying love.
I am just waiting in this cold
to know
that when I sold you my life,
when you used up my story
what you did with me?
Am I there in that heart?
Or at the bottom of some frozen lake?
I need to start looking for it.
And I don’t know where to start.

coffeeeee

“Long Before” – Nayana Nair

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There is no animal inside.
We are always the animal we were.
We sometimes recognize
when and with whom
we will be able to get away with it.
I look at myself
and realize that, at some level,
every sad story
I ever told to an audience
who wanted to believe in me,
were mere excuses
to justify the destination
I was already heading to,
long before reasons were born.

“For my own sake” – Nayana Nair

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While I read,
the string of worlds,
the ribbon of words,
gets broken, gets tainted
by my own skewed perspective of world.
I don’t see other’s story
as a story.
I see them as manuals,
as guides,
to solve my own life.
My mind replaces each word
each face, each sorrow
with my own.
Till I no longer know
whose sorrow is it,
that fills me up and weighs me down,
whose memories
blurs my sight.

blueflower
What is written and what I read
are most often not the same.
And if ever
stories were meant to
understand this world.
I have not done it.
Every word I read,
every page I turned
was for my own sake.

“STORY” – Nayana Nair

Posted on

Violence

How proud we should be to be human.

How proud indeed.

How civilized we are, to kill each other when given a chance.

How learned we are, to destroy anything that is different from us.

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These pages of history that we have left mark on.

and these pages of today that we read each morning.

They tell a story.

Story of the terrors that we put in each other’s heart.

Of the power we feel at the helplessness of others.

Of how we beat humanity out of ourselves and others.

Of how people survive the crimes, that were once not seen as crimes.

Of being drunk on power and false idea of invincibility.

images2V3F7IR8

It is not  a story of prejudices and hatred

fueled by differences; promoted personal gains.

They are not isolated incidents of few insane people.

This is a repeated history of everywhere,

Of people who don’t allow other’s to live a life of dignity.

images2V3F7IR8

It is  a story of what we are.

Of how quickly we forget.

How calmly we live,

Knowing, but not caring

About hundreds of lives like ours,

being trampled by someone like us.

We humans. How proud indeed we should be.

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