The Gardener
You water me
that I may grow
lush and luxurious
you prune me
when my branches stray
too far out or too high
you mulch me when
you think I may
wilt or die
you nurture me as if
I’m too frail to stand
on my own
as if without you
I may fail to thrive
in truth, maybe it is you
who needs me,
to survive.
© Neetu Malik
Listen to Neetu read The Gardener
-
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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