I drop pebbles slowly
watch them fall
in a shallow stream
it runs cloudy
under such a pristine sky—
they ripple
and disappear
from my eye—
but I know
they lie trapped
in murky debris
that rained down
from angry clouds
© Neetu Malik
Walk me through
your cave
show 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.
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