Rolling Luck
The marbles roll
on a patch of dirt–
colored transparencies
shine in the afternoon sun.
She watches carefully;
her big brown eyes
roll with the little marbles
deft fingers on small brown hands
shoot each marble toward the hole
in the center of a circle–
there is hope
of winning
whereas
in the square room
that sits unevenly
under a metal roof—her home
built to stand
but sure to fall
under the monsoon rain dance–
one can only lose,
without a chance.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
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 -
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
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