
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. She has contributed to The Australia Times Poetry Magazine, October Hill Magazine, Prachya Review, among others. Her poems have appeared in The Poetic Bond Anthology V and VI published by Willowdown Books, UK, NY Literary Magazine’s Tears Anthology and Poetic Imagination Anthology (Canada).
Her poem, “Soaring Flames”, was awarded First-Place by the NY Literary Magazine (2017). She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2019 for her poem “Sacred Figs” published by Kallisto Gaia Press in their Ocotillo Review in May, 2018.
Neetu lives in Pennsylvania, USA.

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. She has contributed to The Australia Times Poetry Magazine, October Hill Magazine, Prachya Review, among others. Her poems have appeared in The Poetic Bond Anthology V and VI published by Willowdown Books, UK, NY Literary Magazine’s Tears Anthology and Poetic Imagination Anthology (Canada).
Her poem, “Soaring Flames”, was awarded First-Place by the NY Literary Magazine (2017). She has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, 2019 for her poem “Sacred Figs” published by Kallisto Gaia Press in their Ocotillo Review in May, 2018.
Neetu lives in Pennsylvania, USA.

You play the piano, I listen—
notes slide off
your fingers
smooth as ambrosia,
dripping a symphony
or a ragtime song
into my senses
parched for so long.
Thirsting for the heady
intoxication to fill
my emptiness
I turn to see your
graceful form,
your dancing fingers,
mesmerized
the world slips away,
as drop by drop,
pure enchantment
shivers briefly
then sinks into
the deepest
tunnels of me.
© Neetu Malik
This poem was first published in The Australia Times Poetry Magazine.

I will not count the seconds
I will not check the clock
I will listen only to the sound of
my own inhale and exhale and
the tapping of keys
watch my breath stir the strands
of my hair
as it falls below my chin
over this keyboard
my fingers
typing this note
to myself, this moment
a gift I give
to me
© Neetu Malik

You say life is not a poem
or a story—
I ask, “What is it then?”
“Real life”, you say.
Of course, you know best.
You spend your days
averaging
life’s losses, its gains,
calculating
how much time is left,
working out
logistics while you lie in bed.
Real life gives you pain,
brings a scowl to your face—
you add and subtract,
make no mistakes,
and I,
I just watch
the shadows twitch and yawn
on that wall
across the window
through which the moon
winks at me, sly-faced—
“I’ll be fine”, I say.
© Neetu Malik
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