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
-
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God -
your breath on my cheek,
as I hold you close to me,
silken infancy -
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.
Featured Books
MCBRIDE’S GEM
Hawk McBride and Randi Ronin could never have expected their chance encounter would be the beginning of the rest of their lives.
More info →
STRANGE MARKINGS
The Pacific breezes blow many things in from the ocean, this time its power, greed, and murder.
More info →
QUEEN OF THE UNIVERSE
Can a charismatic TV writer convince her brooding handyman to star in her show in time to save her career?
More info →
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.