Hope, like the horizon
glimmers in the distance
my eyes grow weary
as I watch it burn
then cool in the twilight
each day until
darkness sweeps
over the edges and I can see
no more
only to repeat when I wake
from sleep
once again, clinging to
fine rays as they
emerge in luminous shades
above sleepy slopes
assuring me
there is no end
to Hope.
© Neetu Malik
Author Bio
Author Bio
Born in India, Neetu has lived in Austria, England, and Canada before settling in the Eastern USA in 1994. Neetu’s eclectic work reflects her diverse background as she explores the joy and darkness of the human condition in poems and stories noteworthy for their intensity in brief span. Her poetry is published in journals and Anthologies from Australia, USA, UK, and India. Her poem, “Soaring Flames”, was awarded First-Place by the NY Literary Magazine (2017). She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2019 for her poem “Sacred Figs” published by Kallisto Gaia Press in their Ocotillo Review in May, 2018.
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Hope, like the horizon glimmers in the distance my eyes grow weary as I watch it burn then cool in the twilight each day until darkness sweeps over the edges and I can see no more only to repeat when I wake from sleep once again, clinging to fine rays as they emerge in luminous […]
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Hope, like the horizon glimmers in the distance my eyes grow weary as I watch it burn then cool in the twilight each day until darkness sweeps over the edges and I can see no more only to repeat when I wake from sleep once again, clinging to fine rays as they emerge in luminous […]
-
Hope, like the horizon glimmers in the distance my eyes grow weary as I watch it burn then cool in the twilight each day until darkness sweeps over the edges and I can see no more only to repeat when I wake from sleep once again, clinging to fine rays as they emerge in luminous […]
-
Hope, like the horizon glimmers in the distance my eyes grow weary as I watch it burn then cool in the twilight each day until darkness sweeps over the edges and I can see no more only to repeat when I wake from sleep once again, clinging to fine rays as they emerge in luminous […]
-
Hope, like the horizon glimmers in the distance my eyes grow weary as I watch it burn then cool in the twilight each day until darkness sweeps over the edges and I can see no more only to repeat when I wake from sleep once again, clinging to fine rays as they emerge in luminous […]
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Born in India, Neetu has lived in Austria, England, and Canada before settling in the Eastern USA in 1994. Neetu’s eclectic work reflects her diverse background as she explores the joy and darkness of the human condition in poems and stories noteworthy for their intensity in brief span. Her poetry is published in journals and Anthologies from Australia, USA, UK, and India. Her poem, “Soaring Flames”, was awarded First-Place by the NY Literary Magazine (2017). She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2019 for her poem “Sacred Figs” published by Kallisto Gaia Press in their Ocotillo Review in May, 2018.
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Yes. I often find hope the only thing that keeps me alive. I also find poetry embodies it. If you ask me to explain what I mean by those two statements, I’d find it hard to answer you; but my pulse continues and for that I am grateful. Maybe hope contains more power than it is credited with.
Yes, Katrina, I think hope is almost indestructible even when it seems elusive. Thank you. I know that’s how you, and I, continue to do what we do.