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.
The streets of Seville keep
their best secrets hidden in the dark
I try
to find words for war
how it wrecks, how it feels
but
there is no language I find
to reach
I will weave you garlands
of dazzling wisteria
twine the flowers , , ,
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The spark is still there... and brighter than ever
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