
A frog sitting on the lotus leaf;
Surely not the frog Prince from a fairy tale.
Our reflections mere shadow, overshadowing;
Now a tale of priceless memories.
Deeya Nambiar

A frog sitting on the lotus leaf;
Surely not the frog Prince from a fairy tale.
Our reflections mere shadow, overshadowing;
Now a tale of priceless memories.
Deeya Nambiar
Wish the voices sleep.
Those dead are far gone
And the living dies many a death.
My stomach churns
And thoughts towards utopia disgust;
Speculative spectators whiling time away,
Discussing
Watching
Pretending
Concern in the name of justice.
Consumers to anything
Where premium is in our mind;
Do we care to know our own self?
Do I know who I truly am?
Let the dead rest in peace.
*Disclaimer: My thoughts on Indian media and the way a certain topic of a dead person is being handled. I may be lucky to stay away from print and broadcast media but, the impact it has been having on human consciousness, awakened my slumbering conscience.
2020, Deeya Nambiar
“Life is short.”
A statement, she repeated
Three times, expecting an emphasis.
My eyes were trained at the
Common black bird on maple tree
Quiet, unlike its usual chirpy self.
“To be lived and not short.
Here, now and the moment, I live.”
“Why disagree? We are one.” she murmured.
Another common black bird joined in
Together, in silence,
Seemed poised.
I paused my mind; to stillness and tranquility;
Silence embraced my heart and soul.
“In this life….”
2020, Deeya Nambiar
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