Crumpled
it is just another day
with not much to say—
so I pick up my thoughts
make a crumpled ball
to simply toss away
from the early ticking of the clock
through the sliding of the day
tepid flows each striking hour
measuring listless, mundane minutes
it is just another day
someone ought to strum
the silent strings on this violin
so I pick it up
but it responds
with a doleful, grainy screech
instead of a soulful melody
I just hold it limply by the neck
run my fingers along its shape
and like my crumpled thoughts
I toss it on the bed
there is really nothing to say
the words have melted away
into the stump of last night’s candle
shapeless, obscure, worthless…
just another day
©Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
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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.
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she bends
to the breeze
allows it to twist her bones
shape her arms
to shade and protect -
I see you will haggle over your wares
sell them to me for the price I ask
I know you have many gods
little and large, in stock -
first snow
flakes of a poem
fall on my page -
Shall we dip our brush
in the deep blue dusk
so we may paint joy
we stole from
the passing day
before it grows dark?
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