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.

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.

The Restitution of Love

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I

A flower in my own garden

Of living,

A bud

Shy to open up

To what could be called her

Beauty,

Nurturing for myself

From my withins

Roots and leaves

All within,

I

Am ravishing when in the fields.

Left alone, ungazed and untouched

Amidst all the other

Unknown glory.

 

You want to see me

Closer to you then,

Then,

stroke, touch and feel my scent

In your innards

And when,

i am in your hands

Satiating your senses,

Crushed in the harmony of

Your pulp

I become ‘old and dry and cold and wry’.

 

Once a God but now

A forgotten one,

I lie in the mud

Drenched and soaked

In tears from some heaven.

 

 

 

Maybe someday

Someone will know

What love is to be.

 

To let them bloom in their fields,

Their glory

Never to be held

But only to be

Felt

Just as the

Air we breathe.