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
-
I carve a piece of blue sky
for the dark days ahead -
ong shadows
the afternoon s t r e t c h e s us
on the sidewalks
-
Between sunset’s fiery streaks
slipping into the sea, and
the rising of the silver moon
is my twilight zone. -
I was leaning
by the window
standing outside
looking in— -
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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