Aliens
Wind-blown seeds
land in unknown soil
in hopes that they will grow
into trees
strong and dense with leaves
heavy with fruit
in fertile ground
where rivers do not
run dry
they do not yet know
what winds and snows
await them
in seasons to come
how frost might freeze
tender sprouts.
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
I carve a piece of blue sky
for the dark days ahead -
ong shadows
the afternoon s t r e t c h e s us
on the sidewalks
-
Between sunset’s fiery streaks
slipping into the sea, and
the rising of the silver moon
is my twilight zone. -
I was leaning
by the window
standing outside
looking in— -
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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Hi Neetu, Awesome poem with immigrant experience beautifully rendered.!
Thank you, Veronica. You got the intent perfectly.