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“moodboard” – Nayana Nair

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here.
the buildings and their makeshift purpose,
the liquid tar evaporating and raining down,
the birds that resurrect only for a day,
the menu written, re-written
with tastes i find strange,
the ceremonies of 3 meals and 1000 snacks
and casual friends,
the wishlist, the moodboards
that I have no heart in.
here
this all there is.
here
everything is overwhelming
and still not enough.

“Rainbows and Reflection” – Nayana Nair

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I always thought
that I could be happy,
really happy,
forever happy,
if only I could make myself love happiness.

Though I approached this strange kid,
though I pretended to be good
and as holy as humans can be,
I had nothing to say this ever smiling child.
All the standard stories
I had prepared for this heavy chore
of presenting myself to this world,
were not for her ears.

I could never make myself fill her head with such darkness.
Why should she know of the categories of suffering and where I fit,
about the worth that every person has to earn.
This kid looked at rainbow and reflections with marvel,
prayed before every meal, believed in every story told.
There was nothing I could say to her.
I could not make her see me, befriend me, understand me
without changing her into me.

Only my love for this happiness
stands in my way
of the heaven I have dreamt in futile.

“Fictional Friends” – Nayana Nair

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i break another glass today,
the girl with blue highlights in her hair
walks over it without bleeding
but tells me
not to try such things at home on my own,
that it took her years of invisibility
to even try such tricks.
but she has no suggestions for what else i should do
instead of breaking my smooth skin
and wrecking my good name.
so she tells me a story about a girl and wolf,
another about a girl and her impossible dream,
about a girl and her sad prince,
a girl and the dark world,
a girl and whatever wants to break her down.
she tells me i don’t have to be that girl.
that i just have to be person who happens to be a girl
and not hate herself for it.


it is night already.
i find myself in strange blue rooms.
i hold hands with another new stranger
who promises to sing me to sleep.
he walks like heartache that knows how to smile.
he pretends to be the real deal.
he is too drunk on his own sad story like me
to even see anyone else.
so no we are not in love.
i just want to borrow his songs,
his voice, his awareness of all that is wrong.
i look out of his window, at my own home
at my friends, at my love, at broken frame of my family,
at myself who is trying too hard
to be indifferent to it all.


the battery of my phone dies
and i am alone again in this life
that i can’t find my way around.
i am somewhat lost, tired,
and yet somehow happy
to have lived through this despair,
through another dark night.

“Defeated Packets” – Nayana Nair

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bookcover5

While you read my words
and said,
“How strange is this world!”
Sunlight rushed in,
to hold a strand of your hair,
fell on these pages
and cried out like a child,
hurt that it could not have you.
I smiled to myself knowing what you meant.
These words of mine reminded you of the confusing
and volatile shores of right and wrong
that often you found yourself standing on.
And never knew when the land shifted,
when the tide came in.
Never knew when you changed your heart.
You thought it was strange.
But I know what your words mean,
it is same for me.
The strange feeling in my words
is a mere attempt to copy your strangeness,
your beauty.
So that the defeated packets of sunlight
can finally rest on the curves of your words.

As Life Runs On….

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As life runs on, the road grows strange
With faces new, and near the end
The milestones into headstones change,
’Neath every one a friend.

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-James Russell Lowell

Strange and New


“If they just went straight they might go far,
They are strong and brave and true;

But they’re always tired of the things that are,

And they want the strange and new”

– ‘The Men That Don’t Fit In’, Robert Service William 

dezedusblog

See also http://dezedusone.wordpress.com/

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L'oreille du taureau à la fenêtre De la maison sauvage où le soleil blessé Un soleil intérieur de terre Tentures du réveil les parois de la chambre Ont vaincu le sommeil Paul Eluard

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czyli kilka słów i przemyśleń z fotografią w tle

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... on being and becoming ...

... mobius faith imaging ...

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