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Nahla Nainar Feb 2017
There's a bird in a tree
Near my window that sings
Past midnight
The sweetest melodies.

It knows not,
Or perhaps doesn't want to
That the sky
It trills at so earnestly

Is brightened not by the sun
But by lights
That hide peril
In their electric embrace.

I'm a bit like that gullible bird,
Allowing my heart to
Soar at the false dawn
Of electronic relationships.
Nahla Nainar Jan 2017
Everyday, we meet
In the same smog of a city’s ignorance.
My right hand stays
Raised - in farewell or salute?

I feel not a little ridiculous
A man of flesh and blood
Poured into a concrete
Shell and painted gold

Stuck in the middle of
A thoroughfare and
Given my own road,
Roundabout and
Peeing spots for dogs and men.

I turned a 100 recently
In potential earthly years
And so, I got a spa treatment
Of poems and posies
From my undead enemies

Everyone had a fable
To share about my
Supposedly wonderful life.

While, I, the scriptwriter
Of many a horror tale,
Continued to play mute witness
To my never-ending death

As I waited to meet you again
In the same smog of a city’s ignorance.
Nahla Nainar Jan 2017
When the mind goes
about shutting
The doors left
Open by the careless heart,

Life muffles down
In the fog of memories
Comforted by the humdrum
Freed from the need to react

But it isn’t long
Before the heart awakens,
Looks around, and decides to teach
The mind a lesson

By opening a few windows
To let in the breeze
That will eventually
Knock open a few doors too.
Nahla Nainar Jan 2017
When the wind ruffles its fingers through the
Leaves of the last tree
On this kerchief of land
That will soon house a thousand families

Will there be a requiem for the
Butterflies that were slain
In their hunt for honey from
The flowers of
Non-existent gardens?
Nahla Nainar Jan 2017
As he stands in the airport queue,
Thumbing through his
Little book of stamps, seals and bio-metric signatures

That proclaims his nativity
From such and such a land,
And marks his appearance
As of such and such a height
With such and such a visible mark on his face,
Of such and such parentage …

He knows that none of it matters
As he stands knocking at the gates of a country

For the furrows on his brow
And his near-empty wallet
Have condemned him to
Remain
A citizen of the united nations of migrants
Nahla Nainar Jan 2017
After
We’ve kissed goodbye
And double-locked
The doors to our hearts

There’ll be plenty o
Of time
To sweep the floor.
Nahla Nainar Jan 2017
Going our separate
Ways,
Isn’t it funny,
How studied detachment
Grows slowly
Into considered attachment?
**
Together in our
Need to be apart,
How were we to know
That when we got off
Half-way,
The train would
Disappear,
Taking the station
And the destination
With it?
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