The vein bleeds into routes on the flower,
Spreading rivers of nodules and colours,
Fastidiously opening up its body
To receive the ravenous bumblebee.

It is the beginning of a friend ship, a love
Consummated wholly with carnal desire
And mutually symbiotic congress.
The bee drinks up the nectar like its last supper.

This connection doesn’t demand anything.
They give and receive, void of expectations and desire.
The animal and the flower exist in their au naturale state
Long after the romance of spring **** them by.

Shalini Nayar
© 2005

Sepia thoughts fade to black in my mind.
The hope I held on to lies withering,
Rendering staccatos of asthmatic breathing
Like the dying lion of Lucern,
Shedding one dew of tear that takes
A million years to wet the universe.

Shalini Nayar
© 2005

The right frame of mind doesn’t discern
Right from wrong.
Only truth from lies.

I’ve learned a handful but the true mastery
Lies in unlearning the learned.
And learning again.

I constantly worry myself with
Unnecessary notions because I do not want
History to repeat itself.

You are there, and you will come to me one day.
And I will say to myself,
“There, it wasn’t so bad, after all.”

Shalini Nayar
© 2005

Do you think it affects me? It doesn’t.
Its spindle tail hisses me a warning,
Stay away before you poison her.

If the cave we dwell in forms quietness,
Despondency, ego…who do we have to turn to?
Who would save the last remnants of abiding love?

These are not trivial things or questionable matters.
And yet the ties are inexplicably shred torn apart
By asking Who are you? and What do you want?.

If it goes on this way, I don’t want any part of this.
You can’t touch our souls and destinies. They are forever
Bounded by our fathers’ blood.

Shalini Nayar
© 2005

It’s always about the games we play, isn’t it?
Always about who comes out on top,
Who rakes in the most attention.

The eyes have it. They always have, windows to our souls,
How deceptively they can let a friend down,
How egotistically they can take advantage of a loved one.

In the end, how can you determine the winner?
Who keeps track of all the points you’ve raked in?
And most importantly, how can you tell a heart’s broken from the outside?

Shalini Nayar
© 2005

The colours seep in my throat
Coating it crimson. Staining the wells.
I fear it is a sign of things to come.

I want to feel them all, let the mixture
Taint my senses, each giving birth to a
New hope, a new promise. I long for this.

When I look inside myself, it is black and hollow.
How unpalatable. The newborn feelings orbit the pit lanes
Wanting to burst out in a flurry of colourful butterflies.

But, I hold them in. The fizz of anticipation dies out,
Bubble by bubble slowly retarding, as I tell them
“It is not time yet.”

Shalini Nayar
© 2005

It’s funny.
I never knew the kind of power I had until
Other people recognized it first.

Shalini Nayar
© 2005