Category: Prose Poetry

White…

Wind chime flirted with

White lace curtains

By kitchen window

That witnessed quietly

Fall of  milk and doused flame.

I was not burnt

But bore the brunt,

Tasting imagined flavours of crumbs and cream

That spilled dramatically

When the doorbell rang

And I stumbled…

Split of white second, a momentary bliss –

Mind couldn’t retrieve, though….

“All good?”

“Of course, just a pudding.”

Wind chime flirted, once again.

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

Grey Matter

Every day she celebrated

Her life, as if her birthday;

Day, the birth of a new idea

Filtered through her grey matter

And spelled imagery.

Her symbolism not universal

And Yeats left his impressions when

She busied into curating Byzantium.

Some tweeting!

Her search….

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

Blue Frame

Agile hands worked hard to toil

The family owned land.

Sheets of blue tarpaulin shaded

Young one cuddled up on tattered sheet.

Beads of sweat vanished into the parched land. But,

Water not enough to bed the seeds.

A familiar blue frame with broken glass dangled;

Bamboo held it strong. The photo meant faith.

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar