You were the guest
at my table
picking on the corners
of the table cloth,
fingers nervously
folding and unfolding
mutilated pride.
You watched the candle
flicker, as restless
as your hands—
trembling, casting
shadows visible only
to those who sat
on the edges of the paroxysm
that quivered and coughed,
cleared its throat
as if ready to explode
but was caught instead
on minute fish bones—
too sharp for
a smooth conversation.
© Neetu Malik
I wait eagerly
for absolute darkness
to lose my shadow
Walk me through
your cave
show me the petroglyphs
the stories
you have laboriously pecked on the walls
with your hammer stone,
carved in the light of a lantern
where shadows cast gloom.
I am but dust
a grain of sand
blowing whichever way
the wind blows
in the universe
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Hi Neetu, You are so powerful at using imagery to depict a scene and evoke emotion. I especially loved the line, “picking on the corners of the tablecloth, fingers nervously folding and unfolding mutilated pride.” Wow. A great read.
Thank you so much, Veronica. I guess our everyday life offers us many such images, some slip by, others we catch! Glad you enjoyed reading this poem. 🙂