
I see you will haggle over your wares
sell them to me for the price I ask
I know you have many gods
little and large, in stock
so I make my offer
much to your outrage—
how dare I belittle the deity
I hold in my outstretched hand?
So precious I should fall at its feet
not negotiate over its head—
hush, you say, such sacrilege you
cannot tolerate
I must be reasonable, not violate
your sacred space
I stand resolute in your face
my offer is no disgrace to sanctity
only a question of profit, I buy
you sell
as God is my witness
it is truth I speak
perhaps, you the keeper of such value
alone know what it is
the sticker on the figure
is a matter of trade
I retreat, leave the idol on your shelf
but hear you call me back,
pull a wrapper and roll it around
the little figurehead,
for a nickel more than
I offered,
both accept.
© Neetu Malik

Shall we dip our brush
in the deep blue dusk
so we may paint joy
we stole from
the passing day
before it grows dark?
No, I think I would rather
wait for the red sun
to draw bright rays
across our canvas
and let them dry
into permanence.
© Neetu Malik

all I hear is this song…
carried to my ears upon waves
as they ebb and return
a symphony of love
played on instruments
of the heart—
those harps that pull
me into the ocean
teach me
to ride the waves
© Neetu Malik






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
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