Seasonal Fruit
in a brief burst
of fiery red and gold
we burned….
our flame
inextinguishable
in Autumn’s blasting
wind song
as it whooshed
past our ears with barely
a tickle
ripe as apples
sweetened by the sun
we bit into the luscious fruit
of seasonal love
but fires
do not last and winter must come
yet, for that fleeting moment
we were gloriously
young
©Neetu Malik
Some of Neetu’s Books
-
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.
-
I tread softly in your world mindful of my footsteps
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