“the bridges float on the horizons we have lost” – Nayana Nair

.

the bird of possibility, decorated with arrows,
sits on our broken shoulders
and asks us what we see there
there – where we are not

there?

there…

something fragile still sleeps in us

our hands reach out to always find a sure warmth

something made of feathers hugs us back

a gentle sun kisses our wearied eyelids

and yet the dream doesn’t dissolve in your hand

“Running Stream” – Nayana Nair

My hope waits for the day that this skin won’t alien,
like a loss,
like a counter running out of number
like our voices running out of things to say.

***

And my wishes for a gentler nature,
or to be that cool-headed person I once read about,
or to be the running stream of water
before it was poisoned.
All changed to wanting
something that is not waiting to vanish.