Aware
I carve words in the sand
I know the tide will rise
and wash them away
but I write them
until my hands are gritty
and the color of sand
I speak to the waves
I know they don’t hear
but I let the words roll out
of my mouth anyway
until they sound
like the waves
I listen to the wind
even when it is still
I can hear silence in the quiet
it utters words I wouldn’t
otherwise hear—they come
from within
© Neetu Malik
First published in TAT Poetry, December 2016
-
November draws me
into bleak arms -
crow flies overhead
I hear pandemonium -
last night’s hurricane blew the roof off
pieces of felt lay on the street like bits of rubber tires -
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength -
my room
a sanctuary
at the end of the day
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A quiet, consistent–element by element–fusion of the persona’s senses and the natural forces of which she is a part. All that is, is One. A recognition that we need poets to constantly put before us. These few lines in perfect balance, show The Way. Anyone can say, “we should pay attention to the natural world”. . .and we won’t. A poet of Neetu’s power can impel us into images of such depth and clarity. . . we just might.
Thank you, Clark.
Thank you to the many folks who share my poems with others. It is appreciated.