Tag: Neetu

Home > ArchivesTag: Neetu

Yearning by Neetu


 Yearning
  
 I glisten in tears 
 like an April dawn,
  
 covered in dew
 like blades of grass,
  
 whispering notes
 like softly falling raindrops,
  
 I call your name 
 like one who is lost –
  
 listen achingly for the sound
 of your answering call.
  
 © Neetu Malik

0 0 Read more

The Gardener by Neetu Malik

July 26, 2019 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as gardener, Neetu, nurturing, poems, poetry

 
The Gardener
 
  You water me  
 that I may grow 
 lush and luxurious
  
 you prune me 
 when my branches stray
 too far out or too high
  
 you mulch me when
 you think I may
 wilt or die
  
 you nurture me as if
 I’m too frail to stand
 on my own
  
 as if without you
 I may fail to thrive
  
 in truth, maybe it is you
 who needs me,
 to survive.
  
 © Neetu Malik

Listen to Neetu read The Gardener

0 1 Read more

Silence by Neetu

March 26, 2019 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as Neetu, Poet's Day

Silence

between you and me
and the crashing
of the sea

no sound is heard
but that of seagulls
circling in the sky

drop by drop

silence trickles

lengthening each

moment

before it runs dry

© Neetu Malik

4 1 Read more

Star Magnolia by Neetu

February 26, 2019 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as Neetu, Spring, star magnolia

I awoke
to a sprouting of spring—
will you pin it in my hair?

I wonder
as the starry white blossoms
flutter in the cool morning breeze

I know
that they will blush
to the touch of warm sunny days
still to come

They are
a promise of tomorrow
as it rises from winter’s long sleep.

© Neetu Malik

3 1 Read more

The Perfect Death by Neetu

January 26, 2019 by Neetu Malik in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as Neetu, Poet's Day

They have been sitting on the porch 
 in reclining chairs, an old couple, 
 watching the world go by 
  
 each evening the sun's shadows pass 
 over their faces revealing 
 nothing more than a few lines 
 of contentment 
  
 they never touch, their hands 
 always resting neatly on their laps, 
 or sometimes, they hold a glass of wine. 
  
Passersby note with some surprise 
 how unmoved they are by changes 
 like when they widened roads 
and built that new high-rise 
 right in front of their little row house, 
 dug out cherry trees and tall maples 
 that grew on both sides 
  
 but no one wants to ruffle sunshine 
 with questions—
 they just wave and smile. 
  
 Today they sit as usual, 
 the last of the sun's rays flicker 
 grudgingly, a little hesitant, it seems 
  
 the woman extends her hand,
 touches his
  
 their eyes meet—
 her hand still on his, a quiver 
 passes her lips, 
  
 she closes her eyes 
 as he covers her hand 
 with his.