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Sunflowers by Neetu

May 26, 2020 by in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as ,
Sunflowers
 
I will plant sunflowers
in the hollows we have dug
with a rusty spade

it is time to pull old roots
rotten with dead habit
in this neglected garden
long-choked
by winter’s breath

it is time to till the soil
let it soak in fresh April rain
steam in this year’s sun

and exhale pungent fumes
until its pores are free
to seed new grass
and soft beds for my flowers.
 
© Neetu Malik
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Authenticity by Neetu

April 26, 2020 by in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as , ,
I see him
outlined against the window
in a busy café—
his wool hat on the table
beside a muffin and a cup of tea—
a portrait from a bygone era
and a study in longevity.

He barely moves except to
sip his tea.

I walk up to say hello—
he looks up and smiles, his teeth
a shining white—
they might be false
but who cares?

I catch
the morning sun’s rays in
his eyes;
they cannot lie
nor fake their light.

We talk—
it is so easy to converse,
to steep in his cup,

a rich brew he stirs slowly
and thoughtfully—
I wait
in no hurry to leave.
 
© Neetu Malik

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Beachcombing by Neetu Malik

March 26, 2020 by in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as , ,
 

Pebbles and seashells
wash up 
on my shore—
I gather them,

string them on lines
in colors and patterns
that come to mind,

pin them to the sky
with golden clasps
and make rainbows
when the rain is gone.
 
© Neetu Malik

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Forsythia Blooms by Neetu Malik

February 26, 2020 by in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as , , ,

Forsythia Blooms


We meet here again
but I am alone

shielded by forsythia
behind memories
forged and forgotten
in fields that have
seen snow and rain

lain desolate 
before seasons change
and drifting winds carry
sounds of birdsong
to end winter's silence.

We meet again but
I am alone

with golden bells that
chime your presence
as they rise from the earth
warm once more.
 
 
© Neetu

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Abyss by Neetu Malik

January 26, 2020 by in category Poet's Day by Neetu Malik tagged as , , ,

Abyss

She opens her hands, 
clenched for years
in a tight fist 
like a new-born, 

but these fists hold no secrets 
of a mother’s womb,
no innocence, or dreams freshly sown—

instead, their hardened skin bears
lacerations that come 
from a hard grip
on a fugitive soul

sliding mercilessly 
into the devil's pit

deep, deep
where she buried 
old wounds


(c) Neetu M.
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