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
-
be happy
she says, her soft arms
hold me as I lean
into them
seeking reassurance
a promise to protect -
be happy
she says, her soft arms
hold me as I lean
into them
seeking reassurance
a promise to protect -
The sign is posted
on the porch
I’ve walked many times
this way before
through seasons warm and cold
but no one appears at the door. -
here we stand
not one Nation under Godfragmented under
a heaving flag
weighted down
by broken partsshredded by knives
with rusted edges
blunted, yet sharp
in grievances -
She is
content to be
where she is
between earth and sky
sipping coffee at a black table
in a white-walled cafe
reading a book
but not quite in the pages
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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.