Category: Creative

On Teachers’ Day

It was my teacher who told me

I can write.

It was my teacher who told me

Write from your heart.

It was a teacher who said,

“She will never make it”

It was my teacher who said,

“She is exactly where her heart is.”

Everyone is a teacher:

Something taught, anew often,

When in our life;

And grows apart physically.

Teaching remains,

Memorable.

Memorabilia,

In making me

The who; I am; you are

Lessons, not to be judged

“Good or bad” ever,

And I am grateful…

Copyright © 2019, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

Her Ruby Pendant

Her ruby pendant was a celebration

Of loved and lost lives of the unknown hands

That had exchanged it, wonder how many times,

In a quest of money over relations.

Addressed as an antique piece from aeons,

Stories floated on it being ill-fated as well;

Especially, on day one of her association with the gem,

And day last of her association with her office –

She had called her home of life time.

Stepping outside had not been easy

For the concerned turned far more concerned for comfort

But she realised, she was at ease and breathed freedom.

What she had thought she loved, was lost .

When she willed herself to decide, she embraced the unknown.

Why did she not check the junk mails in her email, she cursed.

He was in a foreign land and a mere acquaintance

Who had once been around, and shared smiles in the cafeteria;

He was writing to her regularly, every Sunday since the day he left.

I happened to see her that day on a video call, sparkling

His words and her words, emotion-coloured expressions

Dazed, (is my word), she touched her ruby pendant absently.

Copyright © 2018, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

Going Solo

I see, 
sea around
Calm to clouds
Water they share
Rains spoke not a word.
Trees fresh green watch
Droplets through spread feathers, black
White dome, a standstill globe
I take control from atop
Rains spoke not word.
Illusions of power and strength
I sense from where I sit tall and proud
That's the universe of acceptance
A little ruffle is simply harmless
I see!

A crow that I am
Free I feel as I fly and perch...
Only a few worried glances at times;
At times, my curiosity gets misrepresented
Irrational as it may sound,
Wonder aloud "why me"often;
Why judge me by tales of good and evil?
Only a few loving eyes glance,
No, they look at me, and I speak,
"Like you, I search my reality."

Copyright © 2018, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar