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.

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.

Wild Woman

Picture and Poem copyright of Vibina Narayan

The weathered marks of yesterday’s

sorrow summers have

left an indelible pattern to

long for something

Forever.

Little droplets of jewels

kiss the leaf tips a little longer

yearned and adorned in

another life.

Telling fairytales of the

untouched trials of

a damp, damp heart.

Frost numbs, and sunshine blinds (which do you prefer?)

Stood in the wet grass

dazed, squared, and still,

skin of a strong, dry bone memory upon,

a jaded rose quartz,

bare and labile flesh amongst the weeds,

in an overgrown backyard,

reminding, remaining, and

remembering

a young girl in the

wild woman’s art.

Silhouette

Picture and Poem copyright Vibina Narayan

Nubile dreams of an unborn woman.

Fair feet that dance through the weather.

Thick and thin veils of rain you

Caress the skin of clouds you fall

from, (upon).

Magic and sweat percolating

your balmy disguise.

Tender breaths freeze in lines,

still smokes of passing time.

As the sun shines,

on a golden cascade of inimitable ribbons.

Travelling bandwagons of the North.

As the teeth of your memory melt,

Into her honeydew mist and the

Sweet sorrow water pulp of

Yesterday’s forgotten promises and joy

rest on your tongue.

Never cry a river, while you await a paradise,

The silhouettes which fleet now

Only within your reach to see ever,

As much as you seek forever.

Never truly anybody’s, never truly there.

Where Gods are lesser creatures and myths walk

miles.

And the mist of rising dawn unleash

The argent face of morning fields.

Your lips that held the secret of her navel

and a night,

that was held together for your desires,

by the wings of seraphs.

Shroud stitched in the corners with

the whispers of the oracles

that will never blight.

Flames – Orange Poppies

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I am fascinated by Georgia O’Keefe’s paintings. Sensual portrayal of flowers is indeed the essence of art for me and in a way observing the birth of life on this earth. I try to photograph flowers in my own humble way, inspired by her work which those who know will know.

 

Just sharing a few lines of my own poetry here tonight. Hope you enjoy!

 

Woman

Woman.

Like an instrument.

Play her right

She is a melody to the ears.

Play her wrong

She is a nuisance to all.

And if you don’t know how to play her

Don’t bother keeping her.

A thing of beauty,

A joy forever.

Untouched and unowned.

Unaffected and unmaligned.

Woman

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Woman.

Like an instrument.

Play her right

She is a melody to the ears.

Play her wrong

She is a nuisance to all.

And if you don’t know how to play her

Don’t bother keeping her.

A thing of beauty,

A joy for forever.

Untouched and unowned.

Unaffected and unmaligned.

The Moon

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Hey Miss Moon

Miss Loony, Lonely, Marmy Moon.

You remind me tonight of a woman,

I once knew.

 

Tales of her beauty

Far, they flew.

Such sheen she lay on the sky,

Of a thousand lovers hearts.

 

Someday, one of them got

A little too close,

And all his eyes saw and lips knew

Were your pits and scars,

And dents and blues.

Like a sad hag tossed out of her hut

You sat in your gloom.

 

Maybe that is why you want to be alone.

To shine on your own.

Never to be touched,

Never to be owned.

Only to be gazed and gaped at by

Those who want to hold you,

Their own way.

 

To keep all your belongings

Large and small,

Silver and gray,

From going far and

Astray.

 

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