A Walk in the Rain
Paris, they say,
is beautiful
when it rains—
now I know.
The cobblestones
gleam beneath
our feet, as you
and I, our arms
entwined,
inhale the scent
of romance
washed clean
of old arguments
betrayed loyalties.
Nothing in between
but occasional
crisp sparks
of our own
lightning, intense,
tempered only
by the summer
zephyr carrying
whiffs of rosemary
drenched in the ardor
of Paris.
©Neetu Malik
Previously published in The Poetic Bond V by Willowdown Books, U.K, in 2016
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
I drop pebbles slowly
watch them fall
in a shallow stream -
she reaches out
touches fog
she had hoped
for the sun -
Walk me through
your caveshow me the petroglyphs
the stories
you have laboriously pecked on the walls
with your hammer stone,
carved in the light of a lantern
where shadows cast gloom. -
I am but dust
a grain of sand
blowing whichever way
the wind blows
in the universe -
You were the guest at my table picking on the corners of the table cloth, fingers nervously folding and unfolding mutilated pride.
