A Parting0 0 Read more
I hold fragments
of you
in my ash-grazed hands
to put them
in an urn
they sound like
empty shells as I
drop them one by one
the fullness
in my heart leaves
no room for echoes
I know your footsteps
will never return.
© Neetu M
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
I carve words in the sand
I know the tide will rise
and wash them away
but I write them
until my hands are gritty
and the color of sand
I speak to the waves
I know they don’t hear
but I let the words roll out
of my mouth anyway
until they sound
like the waves
I listen to the wind
even when it is still
I can hear silence in the quiet
it utters words I wouldn’t
otherwise hear—they come
from within
© Neetu Malik
First published in TAT Poetry, December 2016
3 1 Read more
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. She has contributed to The Australia Times Poetry Magazine, October Hill Magazine, Prachya Review, among others. Her poems have appeared in The Poetic Bond Anthology V and VI published by Willowdown Books, UK, NY Literary Magazine’s Tears Anthology and Poetic Imagination Anthology (Canada).
Her poem, “Soaring Flames”, was awarded First-Place by the NY Literary Magazine (2017). She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2019 for her poem “Sacred Figs” published by Kallisto Gaia Press in their Ocotillo Review in May, 2018.
Neetu lives in Pennsylvania, USA.
0 0 Read moreThe Hereafter
They say there are
two sides of the graveone where grass grows green
trees bloom and decay, leaves fall
winter winds blow, then
life renews againand you can walk and breathe
watch the sky and the streets
touch and be touchedthe other side, I’m told, is evergreen
peaceful and sedateis it the dead below the ground
that whisper such tales? Or is it
the living who search for gracein their lush imagination
of a fertile eternity?© Neetu
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