A pile of books fell,
Not because it was organised disorderly;
“A little more” of my expectation
From the rack I brought recently,
But could not sustain a day longer, broke.
Re-living the circumstance presently
“A little space” in my expectation
From existence to purpose lingered seemingly
A pile of me fell off existentialism.
Copyright© 2015 Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
O Clay!
Play not with words.
Earth,
Tough even when soft;
Situation,
My mind playing games….
Copyright© 2015 Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
Haven’t said a word,
Merely stared;
Care not what they meant.
Bubble burst into millions –
Invisible;
Yet, felt a million nerves.
The wind’s delicate stroke
Appeared a warning;
Passing thoughts arrested,
I wiped the sensation –
Tickle;
Yet, couldn’t stop my heart.
Haven’t heard the beat
Merely hoped;
A minute by minute passage –
Cease;
Yet, remained alive and I breathe;
Remembering a life.
Copyright© 2015 Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
Stories retold
Of prince and princess –
Valour, honour and the victor;
Wars and lives
They chased ….
Stories recreated
Of man and woman –
Emotions, feelings and situations;
Chances and living
They faced ….
Stories reread
Of fictional and non-fictional –
Characters, representation and wonderment;
Idealism or realism,
I pondered.
And our stories?
Realistically conceived,
Professed, often;
Perceived and construed,
Told, created and read.
Each Soul on a journey,
Unscathed.
Copyright© 2015 Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
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