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
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
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
She and I didn’t share the same nature of job.
I’ve known her but for some time now.
She and I never spoke anything
Except exchanged “Thank you”
For the cup of tea she served me at work.
Today, unlike other days
She and I got into the lift together and were alone.
I smiled and fiddled with my phone
And she searched in her bag for chocolates
“You know, I work for myself and my past is not painful.”
“Happy Women’s Day, madam.”
Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar
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