“Shouldn’t that put me at ease?” – Nayana Nair

.

The skin of the prophets and lovers
hangs with the fresh laundry.
The dices and glasses lie forgotten
in the broken and mutated stomachs of our pet fishes.
A pot of porridge sits on the blue counter.
The potatoes, the rice, the marbled peas grow soil,
grow eyes, grow tongue, grow memories that never were.
The imitations of porcelain crack under the weight of life.
It never used to be like that.

Life used to be small and delicate and beautifully framed
within the carefully drawn floral boundaries of plates,
within the pools of small spoons.
Life is no longer like that.
Now the book of tales burn
along with the missing ladles
and fake money of games no one knows how to play.
Every piece of wood, every piece of our soul,
anything that burns, only burns only what we love.
Only what we love gets to die here.

Shouldn’t that put me at ease?
That something gets to escape this world.
But all that dying,
the small pieces scraped off again and again.
Isn’t that how we got to this-
this place where even pain is dull,
where even the hopelessness doesn’t come with a heartbreak.

“Save Yourself” – Nayana Nair

when i looked into you
i saw all the stories,
all the words, all the songs,
all the things that make love appear
more noble than it is.

*

and though i wanted to mock it,
to ridicule your hopes,
to tell you sad tragic tales
that would make break your heart,
make you see clearer.
but I couldn’t.

*

so, take your innocence with you.
keep it close to yourself,
for as long as possible.
try to live the life
that we all have failed to live.

“Flaw of my Heart” – Nayana Nair

Though I hate to admit it,
I have known more happiness
than I should.
And the days of sorrow that I talk about
were not as bad as I write.
The flaw of my heart
was always being too expectant,
of overestimating my worth in the schemes of life.
Believing that the tales I read
were written for me.
But knowing all this
there is only way to live my life
that I know of.
I guess sometimes
it is easier to relive the nightmares,
to live in the smaller eternities of pain,
than to wander in this fog
not knowing what to look for.

“BEHIND THE WORDS”-Nayana Nair

On the strings of her tears

She weaved that veil

Word-by-word

Letter-by-letter

From the immortal tales

Of the forgotten and forgone,

From the shattered hearts

of wise souls unknown.

Tales of broken fates

And healing hearts.

Of agitated whispers

And Beautiful scars.

Of intentions and actions,

Of helplessness of the cruel

And darkness in the heats of kind.

Of kinds of love and hate

And the bleak line that separates them.

With each word she weaved

She became invisible to the imperfect world.

And away from its judging eyes,

She waited for her life to begin,

For a reason to come out.

She waited for the promised love.

She waited so long that

The veil became her face.

That the tally marks of time

Wrinkled her skin and diminished her hopes.

She waited

Till there was nothing to wait for.

She spent her life waiting.

Waiting behind the words,

Living inside the veil.