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
-
I try
to find words for warhow it wrecks, how it feels
but
there is no language I find
to reach -
I will weave you garlands
of dazzling wisteria
twine the flowers , , , -
why love?
no one knows but
everyone does -
I will plant sunflowers
in the hollows we have dug
with a rusty spade -
mist fills the night—
there are no ghosts, just my self
and me in mellow light
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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.