November draws me
into bleak arms
I wonder where the leaves
have gone—
though I know, yet I walk in
nameless hope
of miracle
in this ghastly fog
so dense, so deep that
I am lost
stepping on crumbled
autumn stalks
I remember your face
with wisdom drawn,
how it still shone
after its light was robbed
but now there’s just me,
the part that’s left of your artery
the purple sunset a reminder
of approaching dark,
who I am and how
mortal we are.
© Neetu Malik
crow flies overhead
I hear pandemonium
shrieking birds gone berserk
my peace disturbed
through my window
I peek
to see a world gone awry
a baby bird in its beak
the black crow on sleek wings
no match for smaller things
always comes back
to Darwin
© Neetu Malik
last night’s hurricane blew the roof off
pieces of felt lay on the street like bits of rubber tires
blown off a moving car mundane occurrences
don’t matter insurance will cover damages it’s
only stuff replaceable in all events except
life that breathes skin that is drenched in the rain or tears
the hand that held yours when others crept away and you
were alone looking at the leaky ceiling with
the roof partly gone streaks of cloud visible perhaps none
of the storm strikes you as odd just the leaking heart you hear
drip drip drip
© Neetu Malik
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength
and a sharp shovel
the earth on which she stands
has hardened to stone
she waits for a miracle from sunrise
to sunset, but none appears—
her own shadow lengthens before
it merges into night
and so days and months pass,
seasons roll by—
she cannot see, but feels the tug
of the roots,
how entrenched they must be
to hold her
bound.
© Neetu Malik
my room
a sanctuary
at the end of the day
sound of dying traffic
and a deep silence
settling in
I exhale
the fumes and frustration
prepare for sleep
all it takes
to remember tomorrow’s list
forget things I don’t need
is to remind myself
nothing lasts forever
not even pain, however deep
© Neetu Malik
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