
Enveloped in twilight mist
they are known only to him
and even then, they are just the outlines,
blurred between hazy sheets
of day and night
men and women
keep the closest truths buried
for truth changes with light
and years, and shifting seasons
eyes cannot be trusted—
age obscures vision
but only that of the eye
and the heart grows mellow,
forgives, breathes tenderness
into hardened arteries, blood flows
slowly where there was
frozen pain
unspoken frailties and acts
pushed into dark corners and hidden realms
he now knows to forget
© Neetu Malik

as the sun goes down
and waves come closer
with the rising tide
I see your shadow
receding
and the sound
of your goodbye
drowns
in the shrill cry
of seagulls
making their way
like you
to places I cannot follow
until someday . . .
I can fly
© Neetu Malik

life spills . . .
forming red rivulets in sand
in the vast desert
man’s fury against man
reasons I do not understand
why or how this came to be
who knows the rationality
in the circle of history
with unending repeats
I see blood . . . I see man
a glinting rifle
in his hand . . .
for a broken piece of land
© Neetu Malik

spring has come
and gone
summer breeze nudges
dense foliage to dance
as before, splendor will
last for a while
this fertile forest
will thrive
change when it’s time
we will grow old
like the trees
our span shorter than most
what have we done
with the seed we once were–
what have we become?
© Neetu Malik

they said to remember crawdads
asked me to listen for their song
when my heart was heavy
and my sorrow dark
but I was young, too young
and memories clung to
bark and thistle left behind
now it’s time I know
to retrace my steps
into that forest
slowly, cautiously, though
eyes closed, feeling only
with my hands the way
I’ve walked before
my senses know better
than my eyes
travelled roads
I reach the backwater
past the labyrinthine path
pain and anguish in my heart
and hear at dusk
the crawdads’ song.
© Neetu Malik
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