Forsythia Blooms
We meet here again
but I am alone
shielded by forsythia
behind memories
forged and forgotten
in fields that have
seen snow and rain
lain desolate
before seasons change
and drifting winds carry
sounds of birdsong
to end winter's silence.
We meet again but
I am alone
with golden bells that
chime your presence
as they rise from the earth
warm once more.
© Neetu
-
in a brief burst
of fiery red and gold
we burned…. -
Paris, they say,
is beautiful
when it rains—
now I know. -
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.
-
it is just another day
with not much to say–
so I pick up my thoughts
make a crumpled ball
to simply toss away -
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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