Neetu Malik’s poetry is an expression of life’s rhythms and the beat of the human spirit. She draws upon diverse multicultural experiences and observations across three continents in which she has lived. She has contributed to The Australia Times Poetry Magazine, October Hill Magazine, Prachya Review, among others. Her poems have appeared in The Poetic Bond Anthology V and VI published by Willowdown Books, UK, NY Literary Magazine’s Tears Anthology and Poetic Imagination Anthology (Canada).
Her poem, “Soaring Flames”, was awarded First-Place by the NY Literary Magazine (2017). She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2019 for her poem “Sacred Figs” published by Kallisto Gaia Press in their Ocotillo Review in May, 2018.
Neetu lives in Pennsylvania, USA.
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She plays with shadows
twirling them with her fingers
making shapes she doesn’t
understand though
they are
but shadows, they dance–
she is too rapt in
their movements to realize
the choreography is in
her hands.
© Neetu Malik
The streets of Seville keep
their best secrets hidden in the dark
cobbled paths wind in stillness
I wonder where all the dancers have gone
cafes and restaurants throb with the pulse
of a late night soiree
the candles have burned down to stubs
but the servers will not turn out the night
until platters of paella and pitchers of sangria last
I ask where I might find a tablao,
to be charmed and mesmerized
taking directions, I walk into the soft beam
of streetlights through the tangled sleeping town
on the other side
it is so quiet—
what is tucked behind the old buildings
in a walled courtyard I can barely glimpse?
I walk inside—
ensconced in a shell
of darkness, burns the fire
of a woman, her back finely arched
she is attired in a ruffled gypsy dress
her voice reaches
into the desert…………
the man with the guitar plucks on strings—pulling me inside
I have arrived.
© Neetu Malik
in moonlight's soft sheen I bare all that I am it's the sun's harsh rays that send me scurrying into dark caves and crevices where I am enveloped in the shell worn and roughened through years and tread of time's wheels, cracked by aches and maladies with marks etched deep in my self © Neetu Malik
I try to find words for war how it wrecks, how it feels but there is no language I find to reach that space inside me to define the terror give utterance to grief why war when there is no winning when there is only loss and losing no matter which side you're on © Neetu Malik
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