Where the River Ends
in its gurgling sprint
toward the sea
this river into which
I empty love’s ashes—
indeed like many others
before me—
makes no fuss
no cries of complaint
the sediments and muck
of human sorrow
are all the same
to be deposited into
wider arms
deeper depths
dispersed and dispelled
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
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 -
She needs to dig deep
to pull the roots
that grow under her feet
to do so requires strength
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Wow! Powerful sentiment beautifully expressed.
Thank you so much, Veronica.