Dancing Flame

Originally posted on The 50 year old poet:
The flames are dancing to their own beat as the room fills with the coal fire’s heat. Bottles are opened and glasses are filled to the brim while armchairs are occupied to rest weary limbs. The conversation flows as stories are retold, the front sitting room serves as…

Possibilities

Originally posted on Meditatio Ephemera:
Last night, I read When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi’s observation of a young and promising life — his own — cut short by cancer. Kalanithi,  a neurosurgeon and neuroscientist who also had a degree in English literature, was completing his last year of residency at Stanford when he got the diagnosis.…

The Oncologist I Know ..

Originally posted on Scribblers Arena:
He is a medium through which Things bound to happen are happening. Angel and devil are your labels He earns as you earn for a living . He is a human ! He is just a common man !! He knows the suffering in reality He faces human with true…

Poem #186

Originally posted on Luna:
She finally got to hear those words. You offered her the moon and the stars and the sun and the whole world but she refused. You’ve been gone for so long and she became stronger and capable of walking alone. The darkness wasn’t the big bad wolf trying to swallow her.…

Accustomed to the Darkness

Originally posted on Nova's Namaste 365 Online:
Eyes close with the touch of our lips, Lights dim as the music begins, The evening sets in with warming color, And my fingertips stroke your perfect skin. The trace of your neck, the frame of your jaw, Memorizing every inch of you, engraving this moment into my…

Give me a poem…

Originally posted on Ishaisms:
Give me a poem on sleepless nights In the depths of anxiety give me a rhyme Give me a verbal melody to soothe my heart for in the notes of notes all troubles depart Give me a sonnet no needless sighing Let the sun set amid versifying Give me a poem…

My PTSD – A Poem

Originally posted on Untangled:
Like so many others who live with PTSD or other chronic illness, people often ask me, “What does it feel like?” My PTSD  It doesn’t matter if it’s cold, hot, sunny, snowing  or raining There is no telling when it’s going to strike. Are they alive or dead? Is that pain…