“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
Dispersed seed
Tangled,
In a spider web.
Translated words
Reverberated,
In social media.
Have I read between the lines,
Or, was it, there never was a line?
It was simply,
A spider weaving a cobweb.
An audio of translation shared in social media.
2020, Deeya Nambiar
Holding on to her labels –
Ascribed and achieved statuses,
Meaning of life meant a google search.
‘I am’ is always there;
Who am I but?
2020, Deeya Nambiar
They walked miles, miles on tarred roads and lone tracks sure, sure to reach homes, homes their family.
Many days; many days to crossing states, crossing with little food and sparse water.
Waters flow, connecting states, and flow through my state too.
I’m confined within the walls of a house,
House that let me freedom, freedom of choice and choice of selection;
Drinking water to quench thirst, and quenching the pleasure of favourite coffee.
Where have they vanished, or should I assume News changed course, course of newness in old stories?
2020, Deeya Nambiar
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