— Maya Nair

A mixture of thoughts-
is it painfully personal,
or calmly confused?
A complex internal turmoil,
so compressed that it is unfit for stirring
so impenetrable, that no longer
essence of accessing it, exists.
One thing it propels her to do is to act now.
She is unaware what her action will bring forth
just as she was unaware about the beginning of it all.
She feels that she has taken enough breaths to know what living is-
purpose of life emerges to vanish,
channeled into a chaos causing tube.
Which she endorses it to explode,
in search for translucency in ashen blood.
Isn’t it  an inauthentic escape?
A disturbed closure attempts to
roar into nothingness.
Fluctuating consistency can’t  capture
a stable strand of solace
in trembling, distorted air,
exploding eyes can’t gaze.
She could have seen lights
if she would have chosen
to close her eyelids silently.

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