Woman

Poem and Photo copyright Vibina Narayan

My eyes lay burning

Buried in the sockets leading to

synapses of a thousand other sisters

like me.

We smell of garlic, laundry and tears

of our children, parents and friends.

And yet you won’t shy away your chance from us.

It takes a long, deep breath,

(even more than that),

to summate how we still claw through the mud

with our small fingernails (thrice harder than you)

to reach our graves and yet find a shallower one.

My hands are wrinkled and scarred,

like a thousand other sisters of mine.

From the history of meals we have cooked and served to

tender caresses for the aching heart we have given.

We become your wives, and safeguard your souls

from lack, lax and lassitude

Metaphorically becoming the pole on which you

pitch your tent.

Home, hearth, warmth and light we bring,

Thunder, lightning and rainstorms too.

You call us a misery and

Still pine for this agony

in every sleepless night and dreaming day,

Oh yes, you do! (You know that)

My waist is no longer mine,

And a thousand other sisters would echo too.

Bearing your blood, giving birth to your time

A life to your dreams, the hope in your joy

Nurturing while we run on nothing, giving while we get emptied

And it is a testament of happiness to us.

Lines and scars and loose skin but a souvenir of

A promise we once made for you.

Until you move to a new land with fresh perspectives

and similar but parched promises.

My voice is no longer mine,

And a thousand other sisters will agree too.

Because you sound loud and wish to keep it that way

And we know even though you talk

We will be walking your plans (or over them)

To oil the cogwheels

For the world to run and have a peaceful

night of sleep,

Just like how we tuck you and your children to bed

Safe and sound with a night full of relieved snores,

While we close our eyes the last

And open them the first, letting them burn

To light another day of our lives.

Grief like Sunset

Words- Vibina Narayan. Picture- Rajkumar.J.S

I just have these three words to aid me- Grief like Sunset. Let me see where it leads me.

Like this path I stumbled up on and chose to explore throwing caution to the wind.

Like every other story of mine.

Avoiding the synchronicity that comes with the monotone of life.

Holding my head up high to salute the sun in his eye

When really, I am as short as the stump of a bush people piss on,

Cut down a while back.

I jump across the puddles and with slight vexation avoid the ‘Danger-Flood!’ signs

Because it is oceans I have to swim in my life and valleys I have to leap over

And my tiny misshapen legs ought to have the might that they show.

If I have to live to have another bleak chance at a most beautiful day

That may elude and escape through all the misery and mockery present otherwise,

In this little harangue called my life.

Where rejections and declines may rule the pages of my book

But the pen to end my griefs as beautiful as the sunset

Is still being wielded by my proud little hands.

The End.

January

Poem and picture copyright ©️ Vibina Narayan

The silver of dawn’s sword
has slit through the
thick, black shroud of
the armourless knight’s
fog and facade.

The orange flames of
a new sunrise has
set aflame to the
past love of all
of yesterday’s and
the nights before them.

Birds soaring up high
sing melodies of a
new day and a promised
better tomorrow,

while the world is
being held up high
against the backdrop of
mourning silhouettes of
trees and their barren fangs
in the dead of
January.

Oddity

Poetry and Picture ©️ Vibina Narayan

In this interlace
Between the branches
Of a hundred deserted trees
Where the light chose
To shine into
Their deep marsh
Underbelly of unknown.
Here life has arrived again
Into another year,
Into her,
As she learnt to
Melt into time
And smile from
Within her heart-
The warmth for her winter.
At this oddity called
Time.

Love lies in

Picture and Poem ©️ Vibina Narayan

Love lies in..

every gossamered
corner of
objects
and memories,
once owned.
Shadows
of yesterday
you thought
you overlooked.
Veins touched
by the soft glow
of an evening
longing for
impossibilities.
Wine half drunk
brooding into
the dissection
of maybes’.
Eyes that never
met to spill
volumes of
if onlys’.
Sighs dissipated
as cold smoke
into the wind
and fire
of tomorrow.

Roses never given

Image and poem copyright Vibina Narayan

Oh sweet heart

who’s love

carries the curse of

wilted roses.

Too beautiful to be thrown.

Too spent, to be kept.

Too joyous to ignore.

Too heartbroken to be owned.

Infinite

Image ©️ Vibina Narayan

There is a reason why everything happens.

A reason why you are born.

A reason for why you were born on the day you were born.

A reason for the home or street that brings you up.

A reason for your existence.

One for the way you are.

And the unavoidable one for how your life turns out to be.

Every emotion, every thought, every act, every word- spoken or not, is accounted for with a reason not always known to the limited consciousness of our human minds.

Like all these rivulets, we are pooled into nothing but the sea of humanity.

And then all these reasons, at an uncalled vertex of moment, will flood into your awareness of making any sense at all with vague words for explanation.

Why they were always there in the beginning.

And why they will always be there till the end.

Nothing is a coincidence, and yet everything is.

Supernova

Recently, an image uploaded by NASA Hubble’s Instagram page (picture included), inspired me a lot to write a few verses about Supernova, and the delectable idea of comparing these violently exploding stars to illuminaries who burn and fizzle out due to the incredibility of their astounding ingenuity only to borderline into collapsible madness, spurred my imagination to write a few humble verses on this analogy.

Hope you like it, as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Love and more,

V

The Forest Sings

Image and poem copyright Vibina Narayan (IG: @soulofscheherazade)

In the quiet hours of lassitude, between the waking and rising hours of dawn, the soul of this forest yearns to be clasped in the crush of your old wide palms, a visceral map of all the worlds you have touched and healed.

Skin at every arousable tip stretched tight upon these mountains and hillocks pine for the wetness oozing from the music only your parted hungry lips can sing.

The alluring darkness of her secret alcoves and explored caves awaits to be played upon by your nimble, long, calloused fingers that have caressed the softness of many a lovers’ lips.

The feet of her earth aches to be entwined with your downtrodden ones, to infuse your roots with the vigour only her soil could give, even if you have to trample upon her,

again and again.

And somewhere between the beginning, the middle and the end of her terrain, when you have trespassed all her rocks and marsh and pits and lakes, she lies wide open and awake, to have all of yours in her, in union and unison until eternity.

Letting the glaciers of all your unshed tears, hitherto, melt into the river that would make her deltas fertile, as she gives you life, while you sob into the wake of her earthy bosom, the ravine pit of her forbearing arms, the undying throes of your passion and life.