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Nayana Nair Apr 2018
There is a sleep so light
that it rests upon my brow
ever so careful no to slip into my eyes
and I hear its laughter
on my thoughts that have no meaning
or reason
And when it notices
my tears
it takes pity on me
and holds my eyelids down
with the weight of its love
That’s how morning comes
and finds me,
clinging to the sleep,
clinging to the life,
that will soon leave me.
Nayana Nair Jul 2018
There is nothing more confusing
than the love of people who
never really known you.
Who have always been caring
without being affected.

There is nothing more heart-breaking
than to doubt the intention
of people who actually take an effort.

There is nothing more difficult
to trust someone against the proof of experiences
for reason as small as a smile.
To be thankful, without being bitter.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
If I memorized
all the tones that drifted in from
a world of happiness
we are no longer inhabitants of,
the tones that drip ever so slowly
filling our heart with love
and filling our life with pain,
the tone that ripples through
every word I weigh on my tongue.
all the tones
that resonates in me as the wind passes
through the places in my heart
where your laughter once lived,
all the tones
that separate bird cry and bird song.
I think I would find the song we lost,
the song we sought
that we could never hear
in the noise of our shouts.
And though our love is dead
I would like this song
to have a home to rest.
As for our love,
what is lost is probably
lost for best.
Nayana Nair Feb 2018
I cried and complained
and wrote of this sadness.
I said the same stuff again and again
and still I felt
that I wasn’t saying enough.
I saw your face
in every word I wrote.
I saw your face
till I couldn’t see anymore.
Till I became blind
to all reason.
Till I created the world
where I do not have to wait for you.
Where you didn’t exist, I didn’t exist.
But it was all wrong.
I realized you had to exist somewhere
for me to keep on writing.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
Oh! Let me be you.
Who walks with a sun in your pocket
for every rainy day.
Who stood at crossroads
and decided which road shouldn’t exist.
Let me be you for a day.
So that I am not the one
who hides in hollow words,
who makes her bed on the dreams of others.
Let me be you,
so that I can put out my hand
always with the confidence
knowing that the love I ask
shall be given.

But what is this that I feel?
Why my hands shake?
Why my heart cries?

Is it because
the one who is breaking the wall
with bare bleeding hands
has the same pain, same fear
as the one who is hiding behind that wall.
Is it because
this love, this life
leaves no one without scar.
Nayana Nair May 2018
Oh! Let me be you.
Who walks with a sun in your pocket
for every rainy day.
Who stood at crossroads
and decided which road shouldn’t exist.
Let me be you for a day.
So that I am not the one
who hides in hollow words,
who makes her bed on the dreams of others.
Let me be you,
so that I can put out my hand
always with the confidence
knowing that the love I ask
shall be given.

But what is this that I feel?
Why my hands shake?
Why my heart cries?

Is it because
the one who is breaking the wall
with bare bleeding hands
has the same pain, same fear
as the one who is hiding behind that wall.
Is it because
this love, this life
leaves no one without scar.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
Here on this paper
my lies have no meaning,
no purpose,
no responsibilty of the aftermath,
no hearts broken.
Here, lies can be cherished
for the beauty they are.
Nayana Nair May 2018
The dust that lay on the page
that I left open long ago
is now a page on it’s own,
with a story its own.
I look at it and read
negligence and loneliness.
I read how things are forgotten
so easily
and how things are treated as things
by people who
live their life accumulating things
and rest half of it
misplacing, destroying,
replacing and forgetting them.
How people are treated on similar lines
but worse.
How we come back to claim our possessions
when they can clearly exist better
without us.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
The dust that lay on the page
that I left open long ago
is now a page on it’s own,
with a story its own.
I look at it and read
negligence and loneliness.
I read how things are forgotten
so easily
and how things are treated as things
by people who
live their life accumulating things
and rest half of it
misplacing, destroying,
replacing and forgetting them.
How people are treated on similar lines
but worse.
How we come back to claim our possessions
when they can clearly exist better
without us.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
My blood rushes around,

to keep me alive.

But isn’t everyone one step away

from being a lifeless body

on a pyre,

in a coffin

had their blood decided that it had had enough

and to stop, to rest

and be destroyed in the peace it granted itself

for a whole life of fatigue,

for a whole life of burden of disappointments.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
Your severe gaze
resounds and echoes
the meanness only humans have.
But your hands melt at anything you touch
so that nothing,
even water,
is disturbed by your presence
in this world.
How did you learn
make that face
that kept people at distance
and kept them on their toes.
How hard was it
roam in this world (that you loved too much)
knowing everything would hurt you,
and knowing the defeat at the face of the war
that you never wanted
and you can never win.
How hard is it,
to burn the flowers
born out of your soul
only so people would
avoid the impending disaster
that you are not.
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Nayana Nair Sep 2018
My night melts into dreams of you
and even when I loose my dream
I loose my sleep,
the night stays with me.
The broken strand of hair on my shoulder
could have been your tear
if it had not passed through this night
I live with,
if it was not born in the fragile dream
that you are.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
Can we become better that what we are?
We dream of better future.
But we become worse, become bitter
every time our life runs into our worst dreams.
We hope to forget, we hope to let go.
But become restless, become hollow
looking at the parts we are missing
the parts we took from each other
that we have fed to our ego.
Can we become better that what we are?
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
On the 8’x10′ beige carpet that you chose
We lie together, spooning.
Of all the possibilities I had for myself
Never was this a part.
Never had I thought of a caressing hand
Holding me together.
Of eyes filled with passion
Transfixed on me.
Of another skin , this close to mine.

And slowly your grips tightens.
You hold me down.
Hold me captive in a heart so dear to me.
And I see all my dreams in front of me.
Are you making them come true?
Or are they leaking out of me?
Through the cracks made by strikes
Of your once loving hands.
Is their fading away their
Last goodbye to me?

But it’s a loss I can live with.
Tell me your dreams,
To fill the spaces that mine occupied.
Or tell me of a way to get mine back
Without having to leave you.
Tell me of love, your love.
Let my heart be consoled by that.
Tell me of how I once was,
Before you. I can’t remember,
Do you?

Kiss me, remind me
Why we are here?
Can you lessen my pain?
Can you free me?
You smile.
Of course, you can.

So I close my eyes and wait.
Wait patiently for my release.
I wait till I feel
The blade on my neck
And your breath on my back.
So this is love, isn’t it?
A slow death.
A silent wait.
Dripping blood
And a red carpet.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
As her gaze was fixed somewhere

I can never be.

And her cruel words made

every sweet memory bitter.

Her words full of hatred for me,

but her action full of love.

As her smile never reached her eyes

and her heartbeat I could never find.

I looked at her

trying to find the one who loved me once

only to find someone chained to me by fate.

Who claims to love me

but never does.

I am her mirror,

always was.

Her love fed my love

and her anger fueled mine.

I shrink back to my own shattered shell

away from her accusing eyes,

away from her cold touch.

Not for revenge,

but to hurt myself before she could.

Maybe one day she would look at me

And try to find the one who loved her once

but end up with what I feel now.

Claim over someone, but not their love.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
There are trails of stardust
that are possibly tears,
frozen in the cold space.
Frozen despite the sun
and thousand other burning stars.
And I am not sure
if they are yours or mine.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
I have to sit quiet,

Wait for the wind

To blow away my tears before they fall.

I have to keep watch

On what I say, what I think.

Even in my sleep, I can’t betray myself.

Gulp each cry, each word I speak,

To be dropped off on a paper no one reads.

Everyone wants a rock to hold onto.

A quick mire, no one needs.

For what do I owe

This heartbreaking happiness?

This eternal river of tears?

For my love, my ego and my fears.

Who can I turn to?

Who can I blame?

For these sad affairs and my sorry state.

My story is better unwritten.

My sorrows untold.

People are fed up of giving sympathies after all.

Bound by the choices, by free will, I made.

I do not have the liberty to complain.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
And here is my contribution to
the map of human unhappiness.
Nayana Nair Apr 2018
I always had a sense of entitlement
when it came to dreaming of a lover.
That there would be someone
who puts me first.
But I realized with time
sometimes you have to be that someone
who puts others first.
That was such a terrifying and distressing thought.
And suddenly all these heroes
became somewhat out-of-the-world, larger-than-life
someone I can never be.


To realize the pain
it must have taken
to scrap down their lives
for the sake of a person
whose love can’t be trusted or guaranteed.
How one must endure their own foolishness.
How one must look away from our own self.
Knowing all the while
that all this, built
by sacrifices,
can be broken in no time
with one word of hers,
that can end your suffering
and renew your struggle.
That there is no way out.
To cling
or to leave.
And to suffer each minute
no matter what you choose.


It seemed so tiring
It seemed so cruel
to ask someone for that.
Nayana Nair Feb 2018
When I try to grasp your hand.
As I try to hold you back
from vanishing into
the morning light.
The only thing
my hands could find
are the tears
that I made you shed.
And the sorrow I had thought
would pass,
has led us to
a day like this.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
I see you there
on the terrace of a house
that I must imagine,
for I have never seen it
in all the years we have been together-
your house-
that sits on the same piece of land as mine.
The roads,
the night,
the days-that separate us.
The words that fill
this huge space between us
little by little.
Trying to bring me closer to you,
these words day by day
fill this city to its brim.
Till I hear your heart
from miles away.
But I feel you are not mine
As your words, like poison
eat away my love.
I miss those streets, the nights.
I miss the days
when there was more to this world,
than you.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
The trees don’t whisper,
don’t console me with lies
that they have heard too many times.
They tell me that this sorrow won’t go away
atleast not without me.
That there will be days I will look at
the empty chair opposite me
and my coffee would taste of tears.
Days when I would wake up
with a blanket of despair over me.
That I will stop at certain words
and certain names,
and feel too broken in this happy world.
That I would stop taking certain roads.
Stop going to certain places.
So that my ache in my chest
won’t eat me up.
There will be day
when I would have given up
on all that I was.
And sure enough
the sorrow went away,
taking away everything we were.
Nayana Nair Apr 2017
The direction you have looked at
all your life.
Looking for the lost.
Searching for the reasons.
Waiting for your life.
Look opposite that direction.
You will find a kind heart.
It won’t be what you want or need.
But it will be enough
to live your life.
Enough to make you
never want to look back.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
We twist in the grip
of our own prejudices.
The valleys of our hatred
have become a part of our scars
that has a throbbing bitterness,
that impairs our vision
and numbs our heart.
Our lives divided by this fissure into
one half looking for a way out of hostility
and other half feeding on it.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
I do not draw you.
But my memory of you.
A time in my life,
the moment lost.
With only a memory left behind
that withers everyday.
I do not draw you
to preserves you,
who lives well off
in a warm home
in a cold country.
But I draw you
who lit my mind,
and froze my heart in an eternal hope
The only you I could ever love,
yet never love.
The one who burns my life
one day a time.
The one who I must forget.
Nayana Nair Oct 2018
A drop of me falls on your leaves,
falls from your leaves.
The rain of love
finds you again
even if it is without me.
The ground of reality
hits me again,
asking me to give you up.
It tells me that
if I wait enough,
wait long enough
I will find you.
And by finding you
only I will be ruined.
Nayana Nair Jul 2018
I wish I was empty-handed
at the end of our story.
But I am left with your memory
and anger at myself for
not being enough.
Life would have been easier
without both.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
I wish I was empty-handed
at the end of our story.
But I am left with your memory
and anger at myself for
not being enough.
Life would have been easier
without both.
Nayana Nair May 2018
Everything he was,
everything he did-
was a constant effort
to be true to the image
he had of himself.

He reminds me of struggle
to be someone else
while believing that he is
struggling to be himself.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
Everything he was,
everything he did-
was a constant effort
to be true to the image
he had of himself.

He reminds me of struggle
to be someone else
while believing that he is
struggling to be himself.
Nayana Nair Apr 2018
I pluck one leaf at a time
from this flower, this script
my life is.
I throw them from bridges
on cold evenings.
I bury them in the soil
that soils their print with time.
I burn them to ashes,
so they won’t smell the same.
I hang them on trees
that will never bear fruits.
To leave this story of mine
everywhere and nowhere.
So that you may find it.
So that you may not find it.
But
I wear the last page, last leaf
with only one word, you name, written,
on my finger
as substitute for you hands
that I can no longer hold.
Nayana Nair Jul 2018
I place myself in the center of room
as you panic to pack up your stuff,
being careful that nothing is left behind.
There are flowers growing in the corners of the room
that ask you to stay.
There are green skies
that we painted.
There are flaws your and mine
that decorate this wall.
There are TV channels
that we can surf through,
there are days to be wasted.
And I want to waste them with you.

I want you to stay.
I almost blurt it out.
But had it not been for these flowers and skies
and days written in color of your name,
I could have left
to find the dreams I never had.
There is a chandelier
of blood red glass
of your sighs and goodbyes.
I know you are not running away from me
but from our devils,
from our destruction,
that lay between us
every night.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
I place myself in the center of room
as you panic to pack up your stuff,
being careful that nothing is left behind.
There are flowers growing in the corners of the room
that ask you to stay.
There are green skies
that we painted.
There are flaws your and mine
that decorate this wall.
There are TV channels
that we can surf through,
there are days to be wasted.
And I want to waste them with you.



I want you to stay.
I almost blurt it out.
But had it not been for these flowers and skies
and days written in color of your name,
I could have left
to find the dreams I never had.
There is a chandelier
of blood red glass
of your sighs and goodbyes.
I know you are not running away from me
but from our devils,
from our destruction,
that lay between us
every night.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
There are ruins of hearts hiding
in the secluded places
that refuse to vanish into
this decaying world.
Stagnancy is not an accurate word
to describe
the beauty of these corners,
where the caresses of sunlight
and wind are trapped forever.
There are places
that hold the touch of the ones
the world has lost.
Though I am yet
to fully realize
the depth and sorrow of
this word.
But here it doesn’t matter.
Here the summer and the winter are same.
Here the cry trapped in my veins
can sings along with voices from far way time.
Here my silence
can be music.
Here I can sit and hope
for our love to last forevers.
And know that there are certain love
that can never cease to exist,
but only forgotten.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
There was once a boy
who looked at my freckles
and told me that they were
autumn leaves in winter skies.
That I am a sunset to cherish
and a storm to pet.
Who looked at my words
and told me, that
he could find all the things
he has lost in his life
in my words.
He told me
the day he loses me
he will lose much more than that.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
I dreamt of Galip’s dream,

He dreamt of  sitting by a blue haired ******* a bus.

I dreamt of what he saw.



He looks at her sitting alone by the window.

He doesn’t wonder why her hair is blue.

He doesn’t ask why is she so beautiful.

He doesn’t wonder why she she alone,

at midnight boarding empty buses.



He sits and looks at her.

And imagines the people who see her everyday.

He looks at her eyes that look at

everything in the world as if she owns it.

That looked at everyone as if they are hers.

He wonders do these people know how fortunate they are

to be at receiving end of her smile.

He knows (as I know) why

she caught his eye.



She looks exactly as she is.

She is something he could never be.

Something I could never be.

Galip and me, both are caught in the storm of her being

And we forget what we are.

And it is bliss.
love dream storm bliss smile eyes beautiful blue window
Nayana Nair Jul 2018
All these dreams that remains a dream,
their glimmer and shine
now feel like pinpricks in my eyes,
as the list of “not-achieved” and “compromises”
grows long.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
Growing up
we become closer to the person we are not.
How shallow the facade of maturity is.
How fragile the moments when we feel a human,
how quickly they are lost.
How we grapple at the loose ends of what’s left behind.
How we ask ourselves questions
and write about person in the mirror.
How everything we want
is already in past
and everything in future
is just a compromise.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
I saw you

soft as the clouds of heaven.

I felt you

covered in the condensed drops

of love that the whole world breathes out.

And I hated you for it.

I saw your skin marked with me.

I saw the cracks in your smile

covered in my kisses.

I saw my reflection in your heart

that was made for my thirst.

I saw my heart.

I saw what hid there.

I saw the storm that never calms.

I saw the poison that has no color.

I saw your eyes become the clouds,

I saw it rain.

I saw you tremble as earthquake

that tries to contain itself.

I saw you make your home

in my storm.

And I hated you for that.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
I will give you a list houses
that once used to be my home
and addresses that are the only memory
that has not been blurred
or manipulated by my mind.
If you ever want to find me,
go there.


You will see the line of trees that
framed my sunrise
and almost dry riversbeds of
round white stones, where
I slipped once (or more).
You will see the duststorms,
and the heavy rains
I stood in.
You will see the the intersections,
I could never quite cross.
But all this you see,
is not me.



If you want to find the ‘me’,
‘me’ that I do not know of,
that I cannot give you,
go there.
And look for windows I sat by.
Look for the cold floor I lied on.
Sit there and think of a girl
who never felt quite like a person,
who could look at what lay ahead
and know
that neither the path, nor the journey was hers.
Who only wanted a room flooded with
gentle light of drowning sun,
and songs that could make her sadness beautiful.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
Our hearts are perpetually
suspended
in a time
that flows around us.
And our ghosts pin us to our sins,
while we yearn to be the person
we were a second ago.
Though our heart are
full of ashes and smoke
of loves we have burned with us.
We still hopelessly wish to be with the one
that we have destroyed.
We live in the distance
that no apologies can cover.
A distance
that many suffer
but only few endure.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
There are sorrows too shallow to be indulged in,
too gray to strike anyone’s eye.
There are sorrows that are only mine,
That hum in my ears
as I struggle to sleep.
These are the sorrows that define our life.
and destroy our peace.
Sorrow born out of dreams that
never became reality.
Sorrow that we cling to
to remember we can dream.
Nayana Nair Feb 2018
I can’t hear your sighs

while you think I do not care enough.

I would love to bind myself and my life

around you,

Had I not been so sure

that freedom is the only measure of happiness for me.



The love they talk about

is not in my heart.

I can’t harbor such sweetness.

I can’t live in surrender.

I was not made for that.

My heart was made to be loved,

but to be cherished.

I won’t settle for anything less.

I do not ask for anything more.



My idea of love was never

the protection or sense of safety I always lacked.

Or admiration true or false

that could put to sleep the complexes I have.

Or to be touched in ways

that make human hearts race.



My idea of love was

to be so precious to someone

that they you never

change me or break me.



You changed me.

You broke me.

And I only remember the sighs you took while doing so.

Making me feel less than what I am.



But still, I breathe the same air as you,

Cause,

Once,

You almost loved me.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
I have an idea of Myself.

And how often, in the unregistered intervals of time,

When thoughts of world avoided me

with as much  fervor as I avoid this world.

I think of what I am,

I realize that of all the people I have deceived,

the one I fooled with perfection was myself.

When I see what I do not want to,

my mind desperately grabs onto a stray thought,

to distract me from understanding

Of what I am about to realize.



But I know this game too well

and this is not a secret that I have uncovered

for the first time in life.

It is what I half-remember in all my waking hours

and all that I know of in my sleep.



I know this lie, I have been telling myself.

But today is not the day,

to shatter my Idea of Me

with one cruel realization.



The day, when it comes,

shall be the last, I breathe, as me.

For I cherish this Idea

more than myself.
idea myself identity lies day last breath remember
Nayana Nair Jan 2017
I have an idea of Myself.

And how often, in the unregistered intervals of time,

When thoughts of world avoided me

with as much  fervor as I avoid this world.

I think of what I am,

I realize that of all the people I have deceived,

the one I fooled with perfection was myself.

When I see what I do not want to,

my mind desperately grabs onto a stray thought,

to distract me from understanding

Of what I am about to realize.



But I know this game too well

and this is not a secret that I have uncovered

for the first time in life.

It is what I half-remember in all my waking hours

and all that I know of in my sleep.


I know this lie, I have been telling myself.

But today is not the day,

to shatter my Idea of Me

with one cruel realization.



The day, when it comes,

shall be the last I breathe as me.

For I cherish this Idea

more than myself.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
I once wrote a beautiful poem

which sounded like a happy child

playing in an empty church.

The echoes of his laughter and footsteps

playing in a never ending loop.

But I have never been a happy child.

I have never been to a church.

The poem was beautiful.

It was just not me.
Nayana Nair Jan 2017
I see this small image of me

in my mind’s eye.

In a world filled with black fog,

there in the center stands someone.

Who feels like

my life personified.

I feel I am copy of whoever

stands in that darkness.

I feel I only exist there.

I feel I am the darkness.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
In the park , by the bench,

There stands a tree,

Which has seen innumerable seasons pass

and innumerable humans pass,

Seen their laughter and tears dissolve into past.

With ‘its’ fresh new leaves lost to fresh fallen snow

And ‘its’ dead fallen leaves on the ground

Walked upon by dead fallen souls.

Lost ‘its’ fruits to cruel season and hungry mouths.

Stripped away of ‘its’ branches and its pride.

‘It’ stands there now, not noticed by an eye.

In the dew covered grass

‘It’ feels my steps.

In he morning fog

‘It’ hears my cries.

I feel ‘it’ looking down on me

And wondering

How my loss is more important than ‘its’.

Simply because

‘It’ suffered everything in silence.
Nayana Nair Jan 2018
Would people have been more kinder
and affectionate,
if only the world didn’t misunderstand
niceness on a daily basis?
How come we live with such a distorted view
that we are afraid of being good to each other?
From the fear of being judged.
From the fear of being ridiculed.
From the fear of being burdened forever.
From the fear of being taken advantage of.
From the fear of being looked down on.
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
My life is divided into different rooms
as is my heart.
For as long as I remember,
from the time I used to care for decorations
to the time I am too lazy to clean up.
From the moments of sweet solitude by the window
to the clinking glasses and winking eyes.
The room belonged more to them
than to me.



And I often found it unsettling,
as if on a night
when I would be hiding under covers
not knowing what to fear,
someone would knock at the door
and with that knock, would come a pair of shoes
and a set of clothes, holding a person
whose face, motive or aim
would soon be inconsequential.



And slowly she would drag me
out of each room,
snatching away each memory that she touched,
knocking down my bookcases filled with my escape,
tearing away the wallpapers
behind which I hid my unvoiced cries.
The doors would be shut on my face,
leaving me out in a storm on a moonless night,
leaving me alone to face all that I didn’t know of
taking away all that I know.
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