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
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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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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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