I see him outlined against the window in a busy café— his wool hat on the table beside a muffin and a cup of tea— a portrait from a bygone era and a study in longevity. He barely moves except to sip his tea. I walk up to say hello— he looks up and smiles, his teeth a shining white— they might be false but who cares? I catch the morning sun’s rays in his eyes; they cannot lie nor fake their light. We talk— it is so easy to converse, to steep in his cup, a rich brew he stirs slowly and thoughtfully— I wait in no hurry to leave. © Neetu Malik
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You were the guest at my table picking on the corners of the table cloth, fingers nervously folding and unfolding mutilated pride.
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Neetu Malik’s poetry is an expression of life’s rhythms and the beat of the human spirit. She draws upon diverse multicultural experiences and observations across three continents in which she has lived.
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I tread softly in your world mindful of my footsteps
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Neetu Malik’s poetry is an expression of life’s rhythms and the beat of the human spirit. She draws upon diverse multicultural experiences and observations across three continents in which she has lived.
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Neetu Malik’s poetry is an expression of life’s rhythms and the beat of the human spirit. She draws upon diverse multicultural experiences and observations across three continents in which she has lived.
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Hi Neetu, How tender; sad but also sweet.
Thank you, Veronica. The gentleman who inspired this had a certain light and quiet power which touched me deeply, fleeting though my brief interaction with him was.