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.
Between sunset’s fiery streaks
slipping into the sea, and
the rising of the silver moon
is my twilight zone.
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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