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Tag Archives: understand

“How many more lines” – Nayana Nair

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How many more lines should I write
for you to actually see
the happiness that creates ripples
under my skin at your smile.
The sadness that leaves marks
on my wrist,
on my neck,
at the end of everyday.
And the comfort of your presence
in whose warmth
my ever-flowing tears
find fingertips
that can hold and embrace them.
I carry a love in my heart
that can be accepted and
reciprocated by you,
but never understood.

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“Only family” – Nayana Nair

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I am ready to trade my feelings, my opinions
for some peace of mind.
Or so I think.
For I do not understand why I am clinging
to them, as if they are
my only family.

“Apples” – Nayana Nair

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As she hands me a slice of peeled apples,
I wonder how many people
she has fed.
How many felt the gratitude for it,
only for the time its taste
lasted on their tongue.
What it must feel like,
peeling apples for your daughter
while she is slowly peeling you away
from her life.
Unknowingly and ruthlessly,
looking for something
better out there.
While she hurls words like
“You won’t ever understand”.
But she must be used to it now
getting used to this hurt
is maybe the only way to survive love.

“People” – Nayana Nair

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I long yearned for
someone to understand me,
accept me.
Is that what they call friends?
I too had such friends.
I yearned for
someone to adore me.
I believed it was love.
And now since I had my share of both,
I wish I could be alone,
I could be free.
For I know the constraint people are.
That love ties you up,
puts you in prison,
that stands
even after they leave.

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“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.

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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.

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