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
-
all I hear is this song…
carried to my ears upon waves
as they ebb and return
a symphony of love
played on instruments
of the heart— -
sultry afternoon
in the vast cornfields
reaping gold -
I wait eagerly
for absolute darkness
to lose my shadow -
I drop pebbles slowly
watch them fall
in a shallow stream -
she reaches out
touches fog
she had hoped
for the sun
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