In the Mist
mist fills the night—
there are no ghosts, just my self
and me in mellow light
I pause only to listen
to rustling in the trees, where
secrets like my own
might be guarded mystery
it’s not for me to know what
theirs might be,
but a comfort to feel
a kindred familiarity
© Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
Enveloped in twilight mist
they are known only to him -
Until I can fly . . . as the sun goes down
and waves come closer
with the rising tide -
life spills . . .
forming red rivulets in sand
in the vast desert
man’s fury against man
reasons I do not understand -
spring has come
and gone
summer breeze nudges
dense foliage to dance -
they said to remember crawdads
asked me to listen for their song
when my heart was heavy
and my sorrow dark
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