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
-
my room
a sanctuary
at the end of the day -
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant roomlike a feather
from a molting bird.
-
she gathers dreams that were
shattered in the last storm
fragments burnt and charred
when lightning struck, turned
an armful of hopes to ash—
she laces them into a willow hoop -
wetting my feet
in the old pondI pause to remember
-
how many steps
to the edge of the world
she wants to know
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Hi Neetu, Awesome poem with immigrant experience beautifully rendered.!
Thank you, Veronica. You got the intent perfectly.