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
Frames on the wall
Four generations.
Great grandfather worked with the British
Grandfather witnessed the World War
And my father was born in pre-Independent India.
My brother and I heard their stories with awe;
History a wonder and life unimaginable;
The times have changed since then.
Our next generation
Loves the frames on the walls.
*Previously Published: April 2014
On an expectant full-moon night
The breezy evening light
Leaving inhibitions on the shore
I dig my feet into the sand
Writing the words of hope in anticipation;
The distant roar of the tides
I hear with a shudder but
The waves come calmly –
Collective messenger in manifestation;
Gathering words, rinsing feet and
Depositing strange travellers
Living and dead to hope in anticipation;
The spreads of blue with no distinct line
Past, present and future a transcendental straight line
I devour spontaneity
Layers of washed sand visuals
The mystic sea, resplendent.
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