RSS Feed

Tag Archives: touch

“Bland” – Nayana Nair

I heard her again complain about warm hands.
A hand that remains warm, always warm,
so warm that it almost becomes a fault, a flaw.
That it turns into blame, into words that make no sense-
“I could have loved him if he was not so good.
Good is suspicious. Good is bland.
Good is you when you try to be something you are not.
He cannot know my heart, if he cannot be human enough to sin”, she said.
I wonder why I never met them – the bland people
who would be good for my heart, whom I seek in every hand I touch.
Maybe I confused grand gestures, big promises, passionate gaze
for goodness too many times.
I wonder if it is just my weakness, my weariness
that now wants someone harmless to live along with.

“Reply Button” – Nayana Nair

This where my moment of collapse,
where my undoing starts.
Me, sitting in front of something that I used to love,
something that used to carry a part of me.
Me, in front of bookshelves,
looking at the list of movies that broke open my heart,
moving my hands over the quotes
that I took pains to scribble
on everything I own,
half-hiding behind the high dining tables,
not really eating,
not really listening,
making cracks on my glass skin
with the fork that has forgotten how food feels,
hesitating to touch that reply button,
hesitating to hold his hand.
“i am empty, i can’t find in myself the will
to love anything in this world”, I want to say.
But it would be so unfair
to break another’s heart, only because I have lost mine.
But won’t it be equally unfair
to give someone hope with my meaningless smiles.

“Estranged” – Nayana Nair

when you slipped into my arms
and tried to tell me stories
in your broken language,
when you got all your numbers wrong,
when you touched my face
with your tiny hands,
i almost forgot
that you are not mine.

i shouldn’t have.

“What I Remember(9)”- Nayana Nair

I tell myself stories about
why I threw away all that I had,
or why everything was taken away from me.
How I was too weak, will always be too weak
to carry the weight of the gifts that I had.
Or how I was never quite convinced
that I had something to be proud of.
How I was always trying to gauge
how much deep my feelings ran
for everything that I could only sort-of-love.
I can list all similar attempts
where I sought a better quantitative understanding of my specialness
and used these unreliable results to decide how and when to give up.
But if I had to give one consolidated story of
why I was never a failure at anything,
why I never succeeded,
why I had nothing to show for the years I lived
or for the talents that people remember me for.
If I had to be concise and true
I would say
I never made those decisions,
I was never aware of how I felt about
all the things that bother me now.
I drifted away from what I was, from what I treasured,
the way dear friends lose touch, lose each others name,
lose a happiness they could have had.
Only to be reminded of this loss
when it no longer matters.

“how to love you?”- Nayana Nair

I want to ask,
“Does my love matter to you,
when your love is all that matters to me?”
But I don’t.
What good is it,
to hold onto such hope.
How much could you love me?
Already I dissolve in air
the moment your eyes leave me,
how can I let your lips touch my name?
What will I do if I lose myself
when I lose you one day?

-x-

But day by day,
my fear to come closer to you
and your unawareness of my wavering heart
are becoming insignificant to me.
It won’t be long
before I forget the reasons I hesitated.
It won’t be long
before I get drunk on the future that I has not even started,
before I realize that my biggest fear was not
that I would be broken in your hands
but that I would change even when I don’t want to,
that I would forget how to love you
and that you would be the one
who ends up broken.

“Stop my tears” – Nayana Nair

The lines that you drew to my heart
all of them are dissolving,
so easily.
Is forgetting,
is leaving that easy?
I look at you
and try to find somewhere in you
some feelings for me,
an attachment that could mirror
the state of my heart.

-o-

I am sorry that I am disappointed
when I told you I won’t be.
I am sorry that I cannot rise above
this weakness that love brings back in me.
But what is the alternative?
-the lonely days
-the days spent hating the world
-days spent hating the one I love
-days spent in regret
-days spent breaking those whom I can touch but never love
-days spent waiting for you to come back
and meanwhile converting every hour of my suffering
into an life of anger
that you must bear
even if you return

I hate them.
I hate all these alternative.

-o-

I have no option but to hold you
and hope that after all this time
maybe a little part of you would stay,
if only for the sake of stopping my tears.

“Cycles of Waiting”- Nayana Nair

day210

Your hand that touch me
only when I am asleep.
Your memories that only surface
when I have been flooded beyond the hope of any saving.
The cycles of waiting-
a wait for the numbness,
a wait for the feelings that have left,
a wait that I cannot admit is for you.
But this wait doesn’t make you or me
better than what we were and will always be.
So I tell myself everyday
to stop waiting for the past that I once ran from
even when that is the only thing
that I cannot seem to do.

Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss

Welcome to the Anglo Swiss World

Darlene Foster's Blog

dreamer of dreams, teller of tales

Andrew's View of the Week

Andrew's view of the world in poetry, prose, and picture

Deep Souldiving

soul journey, breathing, growing, healing

365 dni w obiektywie LG/Samsunga

365 days a lens LG/Samsung

The Phoblography

A Post a Day since 2nd May 2019 - All pictures posted are taken by Dave Bignell

words less spoken

Gen X’er chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment through poetry, creative writing, art, photography, and culture.

Andreas Blaustein

"Inspiring quote to express my individuality."

TJ Darby's Ale 81 Inn

An eclectic collection of trivia, musings and free range lunacy

Rusted Honey

Poetry, haiku, tanka, and micropoetry

Learning to write

Just your average PhD student using the internet to enhance their CV

Self-Inflicted Drama

Stories of wanderlust, adventure and occasional disaster.

Bullroarin's Blog

Art is the Struggle to Understand

A Frank Angle

Thoughts from the Inner Mind

Plying Through Life

Travel Stories and Other Adventures

treesshrubs's Blog

exploring expressing creating

Sas-Oki Soaps

notes from the shed