Hope, like the horizon
glimmers in the distance
my eyes grow weary
as I watch it burn
then cool in the twilight
each day until
darkness sweeps
over the edges and I can see
no more
only to repeat when I wake
from sleep
once again, clinging to
fine rays as they
emerge in luminous shades
above sleepy slopes
assuring me
there is no end
to Hope.
© Neetu Malik
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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.
-
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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Yes. I often find hope the only thing that keeps me alive. I also find poetry embodies it. If you ask me to explain what I mean by those two statements, I’d find it hard to answer you; but my pulse continues and for that I am grateful. Maybe hope contains more power than it is credited with.
Yes, Katrina, I think hope is almost indestructible even when it seems elusive. Thank you. I know that’s how you, and I, continue to do what we do.