daipayan-nair
Silchar, Assam, India
Daipayan Nair is freelance writer/columnist, poet, fiction writer and essayist. His works have been published in a lot of anthologies and poetry journals like The Poetry Breakfast, The Galway Review, Tuck Magazine, 1947 Literary Journal, Duane's PoeTree Blog etc. He was recently awarded The Reuel International Poetry Prize 2016. He has also got a book to his name. His first collection of poems named 'The Frost' which was released last year. To check some of his recent works please log on to the site address given below: / / www.daipayannair.wordpress.com
Child in bubble
In the delineated rubble
A bone to be scavenged.
Cobbler tying butterflies
The polish left dry
A bone to be scavenged.
Tailors stitching suit
Tape measured six foot
A bone to be scavenged.
Bullet tattoos is to bliss
Is this the balance?
A bone to be scavenged
A hunger to be avenged.
The inner vulture.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
The cat and her
speaker paw.
She holds the
stage in
midst of
human frames.
Damp walls
at clock struck
twelve.
Crows with
tears penetrating
the extra time.
The green
teased for a
self breath.
Kitchens of greed
complimenting street
wrappers.
Households and
nests in a rhythmic
beat.
The blur, otherwise
bright, still
the same for
innocence.
The cat and her
speaker paw.
Her audience,
virtual.
The pure chord
overlooked.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 2:43 AM UTC
There will exist a middle
where good and bad will sleep.
And then the bad will rise faster
as they will be more restless.
Good will rise, good has to rise
only to become inseparable.
They will be friends with rebellions.
They will be rebellious friends.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 4:29 AM UTC
I am full with myself
flowing out unexpectedly
from the nostril.
Oddities are fever.
Openings in walls
are contagious.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
She stands leaning
against the wall, wearing
a camoulflage shade,
and she admits,
it's the new fashion.
She looks at me and winks -
"See, this is my camouflage.
The one you prune
and deforest is me."
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
She grabs
her
triangle
for
a gyrate.
The end product
is
but a forced
gem
to sparkle.
Spoons to
lick
Spoons to
pour
Limit-
the
hidden clown
A stop
and
she figures
her
futile vertex.
Each point
reflected
twice.
Birth, desire
& death
in consecutive
origins.
A dead life.
Gems are but
stones.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
Acidic faces - a humble absorption.
Distortions, accepted
as clean networks in a green eyeball.
Faces flowing as a stream
of black decay, from our skulls
'Others' is an entity
falling for a pit or falling in it.
Base of a base seems lost.
Dilution occurring through kisses
or shutters of infinite resolutions.
Legs become the silent dunes, they cover
Curves preventing from falling,
help in getting stuck and rotting.
Spaces make deadly chemicals
get artistic recognition.
Two roads indulged in zombie meets,
left twisted in a quake.
Fragile fingers now learning
to narrate life with bones, or at least tend to
War has left none rock stiff but bones
and war is when it is to the bone
as some young minds in the middle
of nowhere, of a deserted, bare chest
wrapped in soft, damp, dead twigs,
screaming, take a bath, take a bath.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC
I look around.
Gathering a zeal
more than courage,
I kiss her
blocking those lips.
The best,
I can think of.
I assure,
not a single portion
remains
out of grasp,
minimizing
the detonation,
blowing
just the two of us.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:49 AM UTC
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a Nyctophile
as I too love my collapsing sight
I too flicker in the bright.
Like an earner without his earning
The dark existence,
by the sphere that lurks, partially satiated
'See-Saw' a fodder for human poets
The other aspect, totally denied.
Skin is imbalanced
which showers mixed colors
Why not an equilibrium?
Vampires licking honeyed sanity
The sane too, join the party.
But, if he complies, they wouldn't
If she complies, they wouldn't
Fluctuations are eminent
There should appear some respite,
despite
the fact, I am a dust stained file
as I too love my collapsing might
I too flicker in the bright.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:34 AM UTC
Don't give such
affirming sighs
to my proposals.
Those eyelids
don't make
the jump to fly.
I push them
off a cliff.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 3:12 AM UTC