Crumpled
it is just another day
with not much to say—
so I pick up my thoughts
make a crumpled ball
to simply toss away
from the early ticking of the clock
through the sliding of the day
tepid flows each striking hour
measuring listless, mundane minutes
it is just another day
someone ought to strum
the silent strings on this violin
so I pick it up
but it responds
with a doleful, grainy screech
instead of a soulful melody
I just hold it limply by the neck
run my fingers along its shape
and like my crumpled thoughts
I toss it on the bed
there is really nothing to say
the words have melted away
into the stump of last night’s candle
shapeless, obscure, worthless…
just another day
©Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
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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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tonight
the silk moon weaves me
into its silver streams -
don’t tell me how much
you love me, not now -
November draws me
into bleak arms
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