Poet's Day by Neetu Malik Archives

Passing by

September 26, 2020 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik

Passing by

dusk casts its veil gently
as I walk along
this quiet street
under winged elms shedding
flaky white blossoms
at my feet

the hour is my own
no one here to nettle my peace
other walkers, far and few,
wave or smile occasionally

people come and people leave
I have learned to let them be
for on these intersecting trails
we’re passersby, you and I

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Don’t Tell Them

August 26, 2020 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik

Don’t Tell Them

It was in April they met
when rain washed away
their loneliness

hand in hand they walk
in meadows sprouting
soft blades of grass,
young and lush
their love, tender as buds germinating
from dormant seed, throbbing
with promises they swear to keep

unaware yet of summer’s heat
or autumn’s last blaze,
no icicles to freeze
the flow in their veins

so it should be, better not tell them
what awaits.

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Fences by Neetu

July 26, 2020 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as fences, Neetu Malik, poetry

Fences

now
as then

we draw lines
build and rebuild
fences
with new wire
cut of the same steel
forged in
new factories

still owned and run
by warped minds

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Sunflowers by Neetu

May 26, 2020 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as Spring, Sunflowers

Sunflowers
 
I will plant sunflowers
in the hollows we have dug
with a rusty spade

it is time to pull old roots
rotten with dead habit
in this neglected garden
long-choked
by winter’s breath

it is time to till the soil
let it soak in fresh April rain
steam in this year’s sun

and exhale pungent fumes
until its pores are free
to seed new grass
and soft beds for my flowers.
 
© Neetu Malik

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Authenticity by Neetu

April 26, 2020 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as connections, new friends, smiles

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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