Glass
I tread softly
in your world
mindful of my footsteps
on the fragile glass
of your emotions
fearing the crack
one little slip could cause
breaking my own heart
without blows
without words
in a silence
deeper than
death
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
I drop pebbles slowly
watch them fall
in a shallow stream -
she reaches out
touches fog
she had hoped
for the sun -
Walk me through
your caveshow 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 -
You were the guest at my table picking on the corners of the table cloth, fingers nervously folding and unfolding mutilated pride.
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SLIVERS OF GLASS
Southern California 1955: the summer Disneyland opened, but even "The Happiest Place on Earth" couldn't hide the smell of dirty cops, corruption and murder.
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