Author Archives: Daipayan Nair

About Daipayan Nair

Born in february 3rd, 1988, in a small town Silchar in North East India. Daipayan Nair, a poet, song writer and a blogger is the author of 'The Frost - Selected Poems' , a book containing his most renowned works. Apart from that he has got his works published in a number of anthologies. His poem 'O' Mademoiselle' received appreciation worldwide.

The Canary

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Many a soul flown

Disappearing into lands unknown

The canary all lone

Sings of his beloved gone

 

Day after day

Night after night

Waiting to play

With the gleaming light

The Canary-

Basking in the warmth of May

Reminisces the Spring night!

 

Love!

Where have you hidden?

In darkish coves

Or places forbidden..!

 

Warm embraces cold

Not heard is the flap

Memories turn old

Forgotten is the cheerful clap

The Canary ponders

If only death could fill the gap…..

 

The Sun sets..

It takes a nap

The Sun rises..

 

What’s next…………………………………?

Unserved

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Is it logical

if I exhale lustrous fumes

when the new harvests have

already been adding gold.

 

The salt added in small

proportions will be a dish better sold!

 

Is it logical

if I dance in heavenly pours

when the plumules eager have

already been sprouting praise.

 

The salt added in small

proportions will be a dish better sold!

 

Is it logical

if I sprinkle colours to painted glades

when the moths in Spring have

already been conducting plays.

 

The salt added in small

proportions will be a dish better sold!

 

Is it?

Or…

Is it not?

My dish lies unserved

The awaiting dot…

The Gypsy

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O’ mystical mystery!

In your asymmetrical symmetry, many a clue derives shape

The strings of Apollo play in gasps

The gypsy watches, rims agape.

 

Those founts teased by pecks silvery

Desires he too a drop to pen

Desires he too a drop to quench

You, an innocent verse turned ballad juvenile

The gypsy waits to drench.

 

Shivers in noon, shivers in moon

O’ mystical mystery!

To your shanty mellow, do invite soon

Beneath the ray laden gem in the night half crescent,

The gypsy begins to croon.

 

Amidst the penman’s bliss; a few letters amiss

Where lost are you?

What marks the pain?

Is it the cycle with patterns mobile?

Or is it the equilibrium-

The stagnant call ‘Rain’.

 

O’ mystical mystery!

In your asymmetrical symmetry, many a clue derives shape

The gypsy figures the canvas

Emotion, none but a conjuror’s trick

The show, its staged

The gypsy watches, rims agape.

Phase

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Fail did he

in scripting the wild

Though promises seemed

like candyfloss to a child

Fail did he

in breathing for a while

That was the time

he parted with his quill

He couldn’t be with her.

 

Realise did he later

what he had lost

The rain in its flowing beauty

just before the frost

Realise did he

the eternal knot

That was the time

he again cuddled his quill

He again breathed her.

Absurdity

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A puff eager, by the banks,

taken to resolve;

resolve what seems already solved

Mundane ashes in the backwaters dissolved

An axis stagnant, eager to tilt;

eager to revolve.

 

Is there a Bulbul as such-

voicing melodies under a raven’s watch?

Is there a provoking touch-

gifting warmth under an alien clutch?

 

The lady with synthetics torn;

deprived of stainless knobs,

takes a dip

Emerges with a stretched lip

 

Is she a rebel?

Or is it I

who is a fake foam.

 

Gangotri has lost

Ganga has won

The one tilted shifts back

Absurdity meets its clarity

back home.