In Repose
I thought I could catch leaves
as they flurried down trees
where the summer sun
had painted them green just yesterday
when they were laden with
liquid imagination, suspended
from moist branches drenched
in dew
but seasons change
frost must replace droplets of dew
and I must let the leaves go
as they will
to follow their course
to be turned in the winter soil
of soft sorrow as they mourn
the passing of color and wait
in quietude for
a new beginning.
© Neetu Malik
-
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.
-
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.
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Neetu’s intuitive poetic skill keeps me following her stuff, wherever it goes. Here in the first few lines a little inner voice in the reader peeps, “yes, yes, another sappy poem about a poet wailing over a dying leaf. Seriously, go beat another dead horse. . .” But look at what happens: HER emotions are shifted to the leaves themselves, softly personified in the closing stanza as mourning their own death but then accepting that in their death lies rebirth. . .so they quietly wait. Could leaves be sentient? There is evidence that trees can sense danger and protect themselves. So why not. . . .? This short poem provides an aura of oneness between Man and nature, an unusual and provocative turn that expands the reader’s sense of involvement through personification.
Thank you, Moonfroth. Your comments are always appreciated.