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
It must have been
a stormy night
when love flew out the window
of my vacant room
like a feather
from a molting bird.
she gathers dreams that were
shattered in the last storm
fragments burnt and charred
when lightning struck, turned
an armful of hopes to ash—
she laces them into a willow hoop
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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