Monday, May 1, 2017




Under a thick-padded rooftop
so grey it could be night or day--
she wouldn't know unless
she checks the clock
in the city square.

Home is the street
since she couldn't
pay rent and ran out of dole--

dough that always runs out;
stretches thin until it dissolves,

and food stamps have gone cold--
warm suppers don't come cheap;
only the hungry know
that soup kitchens run out faster
when the line moves slow
and you are still standing
where you were two hours ago

on the pavement as grey as the sky
she slumps,
slips through its cracks.
© Neetu M.


We are wounded
by design;

I know you conceal
unhealed wounds inflicted
by others who have
abrasions of their own

my rough edges stab you
in your core, but
I am not
made of stone.

I bleed too,
when I am struck
or hit the wall;
scrapes go deeper
than you can see

because I am human;
crafted with frailties,
not promised to be
free of flaws.
©Neetu M.

A Farewell

You stood in the rain,
watched me leave
by the last train on
a wet winter’s eve.

Our snowed-in dreams
frosted and iced
a window pane
on the wrong side.

I saw your hand
wave to me,
your silhouette carved
in my memory.

The whistle blew
through gloom and chill,
wrenched me from you—
time is frozen still.

©Neetu M.

For Neetu, poetry is an expression of the rhythms of life and the human spirit, which strike different beats depending on the sounds and silences generated by experiences. She shares her writing on a few different platforms and is a frequent guest contributor to the Australia Times Poetry Magazine. She has also been published twice in The Poetic Bond Anthology, edited by Trevor Maynard, UK and published by Willowdown Books. Neetu lives in Pennsylvania, USA.