Writer’s Quote: Soul Unraveled

Writer’s Quote: Soul Unraveled

For this week’s Writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, I’m going to take a personal detour. We all have those people in our lives who are much more than friends and are practically family. People who waltz into our lives unexpectedly and inadvertently take up a huge space in it; well, my friend/housemate/sister recently published her first poetry collection called Soul Unraveled.

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This book is a journey through Love, heartbreak, abuse, and rising above it all. It touches on aspects of life in short free verses divided into six different chapters. The poems in this collection are raw and unfiltered especially when tackling issues such as sexual assault.

Now that I’ve talked the talk, Its time to walk that talk. Below are a few poems from “Soul Unraveled“. If you like what you read, you can pick up the book which is available in e-form and hardcopy on amazon. The link is at the bottom of the post.

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You can also catch up with the writer on Instagram  @ Soul Unraveled

Available on Amazon: SoulUnraveled: Rising from the ashes 

If there are any book reviewers who would be willing to review this book, please send me an email at mykahani@yahoo.com

 

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Writer’s Quote: pleasure & sorrow

Writer’s Quote: pleasure & sorrow

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I was scrolling through images on google to get a quote to share for this weeks’s Writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, when I came across the above words by Victor Hugo. I literally said out loud- This is beautiful.

I had intended to share a quote by Robert Browning as his poem is my pick of the week, but I couldn’t pass up the Victor Hugo quote; so much truth in it.

The poem I’m sharing below in turn contains so much wisdom in its few lines. It reminds me of an elderly person giving advice to a young one. It is so true when they say- we learn from adversity. I hope you enjoy the poem below.

By Robert Browning Hamilton

I walked a mile with Pleasure;
She chatted all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne’er a word said she;
But, oh! The things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me.

From experience, I am a believer that sadness and tears and sorrow help us to grow and evolve into better human beings. Do you agree?

 

 

Writer’s Quote: Children

Writer’s Quote: Children

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Something unexpected happened today. I awoke to the news that we had a 25 hour day, yesterday and the time has shifted from +3gmt to +2 gmt. I was messed up in the head this morning when I found out.

In my 21 years, this is the first time its happened. I had to sit down for about 30 minutes to get my bearing straight. It was confusing trying to decipher if the 11 am lecture I was having today meant 11 am old time or new time.

But then again, thats one of the great things about living in a different country; you get to experience new things. I sure wouldn’t be experiencing any time changes if I was back home.

That being said (I just had to air it out), welcome to another Writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday. I do hope the poem i’ll be sharing today doesn’t put a damper in your mood. I found it beautiful and melancholic.

Middle Age by Pat Schneider

The child you think you don’t want
is the one who will make you laugh.
She will break your heart
when she loses the sight in one eye
and tells the doctor she wants to be
an apple tree when she grows up.

It will be this child who forgives you again and again
for believing you don’t want her to be born,
for resisting the rising tide of your body,
for wishing for the red flow of her dismissal.
She will even forgive you for all the breakfasts
you failed to make exceptional.

Someday this child will sit beside you.
When you are old and too tired of war
to want to watch the evening news,
she will tell you stories
like the one about her teenaged brother,
your son, and his friends
taking her out in a canoe when she was
five years old. How they left her alone
on an island in the river
while they jumped off the railroad bridge.

Writer’s quote: I am!

Writer’s quote: I am!

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday. The poet I’ll be sharing today is John Clare and in this poem, he takes the reader through a journey of sadness and loneliness.
I cannot remember the first time I came across the poem, but I’d say this- John Clare threw an emotional punch to me with this poem. I felt it and I hope you do too.

I am! by John Clare
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death’s oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
And e’en the dearest- that I loved the best-
Are strange- nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil’d or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below- above the vaulted sky.

Writer’s Quote: Awareness

Writer’s Quote: Awareness

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October is a month which helps to spread the awareness of so many important causes including, Domestic Violence, World Mental health day, Girl child day and the topic of this week’s Writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday– Breast cancer awareness.

I found an old poetry book of mine called “Nineteen years in diapause“. I bought this book during my first year of medical school and as it was a time when I was in my early phase of poetry, I didn’t fully appreciate the beauty and gems it contained within its poems.

Nevertheless, there was one poem which stuck to me. And as I went through the book again yesterday, I came across the poem once more and knew I had to share it.

Annals of the closet by Katie Queen

No one is to disrupt mommy
when she is working,
she likes her space silent.

Her stethoscope is not a toy
and neither is our new greedy baby:
gurgling and mewing

in the room down the hall.
My room. My lavender coloured room,
a “babies room, not for big girls.”

Looking for mommy,
I found a wig
as she must have found the lump,

lurking in the deep recesses
of her lush closet,
hidden in a bag,

unearthed by curiosities
of nimble fingers’
exploratory cravings.

“For when i’m old and lose my hair”
she said, without hesitation,
Plopping the carbon copy in my head.

After that, there was no need to wonder
anymore. Not even
after I saw the scar-

a pink patch
of matted stretched skin
nestled neatly

between clavicle
and nipple-
something the baby must have seen,

or felt,
or licked,
did I question her.

 

Writer’s Quote: The Nail

Writer’s Quote: The Nail

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The poem below is one I feel strongly about. The reason I am sharing this poem is because I believe it is a poem everyone should read at least once, especially with the state the world is in.

This poem holds a message we all should hear and absorb. We can turn off the news, ignore the papers, block out the internet, but it doesn’t change reality.

Although, I am one of those who like to pretend everything is all peaches and rainbows, but as a human being, it is my duty to remember and acknowledge- there are bad things happening in this world, even though it may seem like a myth. It is not, this is happening in reality. Only by recognising, Yes, there is a problem can we come together and find a solution for it.

The Nail by C.K Williams

Some dictator or other had gone into exile, and now reports were coming about his regime,
the usual crimes, torture, false imprisonment, cruelty and corruption, but then a detail:
that the way his henchmen had disposed of enemies was by hammering nails into their skulls.
Horror, then, what mind does after horror, after that first feeling that you’ll never catch your breath,
mind imagines—how not be annihilated by it?—the preliminary tap, feels it in the tendons of the hand,
feels the way you do with your nail when you’re fixing something, making something, shelves, a bed;
the first light tap to set the slant, and then the slightly harder tap, to em-bed the tip a little more …

No, no more: this should be happening in myth, in stone, or paint, not in reality, not here;
it should be an emblem of itself, not itself, something that would mean, not really have to happen,
something to go out, expand in implication from that unmoved mass of matter in the breast;
as in the image of an anguished face, in grief for us, not us as us, us as in a myth, a moral tale,
a way to tell the truth that grief is limitless, a way to tell us we must always understand
it’s we who do such things, we who set the slant, embed the tip, lift the sledge and drive the nail,
drive the nail which is the axis upon which turns the brutal human world upon the world.

 

Writer’s Quote: Kindness

Writer’s Quote: Kindness

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I found this incredible quote above by Nikita Gill and I thought I had to share it. We are not always kind to ourselves. We could be the cherry on top of every other person’s cake but when it comes us- to being kind to ourselves, forgiving ourselves, we are our own worst enemies.

The poem I’m sharing today as part of Writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, is written by undoubtably one of the greatest poet ever- Maya Angelou. It talks about forgiveness. And according one analysis by Prezi.com, the poem is all about a mother, acknowledging forgiveness with open arms.

This poem talks about a daughter returning home after committing (who knows what) atrocity, and amidst the blackness of the night, finds the forgiving and comforting arms of her mother, open, blameless and ready to receive her.

The Mothering Blackness by Maya Angelou

She came home running
back to the mothering blackness
deep in the smothering blackness
white tears icicle gold plains of her face
She came home running

She came down creeping
here to the black arms waiting
now to the warm heart waiting
rime of alien dreams befrosts her rich brown face
She came down creeping

She came home blameless
black yet as Hagar’s daughter
tall as was Sheba’s daughter
threats of northern winds die on the desert’s face
She came home blameless.

 

Writer’s Quote: The Mother

Writer’s Quote: The Mother

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poet is one I have shared recently- Gwendolyn Brooks. I guess, there is no hiding the fact that she is one of my favourite poets.

The poem I am sharing today is one close to my heart- it is about a woman who has previously had an abortion, and is now filled with remorse and regret. It is a narrative and reads as a message to, in her own words, “the child she got that she didn’t get”. She wants the child to know that she is sorry for what she had done and she loves him/her.
Below is the poem, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The mother by Gwendolyn Brooks

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,
and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?–
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.

Writer’s quote: Langston Hughes

Writer’s quote: Langston Hughes

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Hello and welcome to writer’s quote Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors.

I know I haven’t posted in a few days, but you didn’t think I’d miss Writer’s quote, did you? This week, I am sharing one of my favourite authors whose poem I have shared previously before too. It’s Langston Hughes, one of the poets I do not tire from reading his poems.

It’s amazing to see that in every generation, through every cycle of oppression, there’s always someone using whichever means they have to speak out against it. It makes me happy to read works written by writers and poets, which clearly would have put them at odds against the authorities during those times. But they wrote. They used the one weapon they had, the pen, and its makes me proud to be writer.

Below is the poem, it’s a fairly popular poem so you may have come across it. I hope you enjoy it.

I, too by Langston Hughes
I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I’ll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody’ll dare
Say to me,
“Eat in the kitchen,”
Then.

Besides,
They’ll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed–

I, too, am America.

Writer’s Quote: Dear Reader

Writer’s Quote: Dear Reader

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday, where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors.

Today’s poem talks about taking care of a patient with Alzheimers, from the point of view of the nurse. I love the fact that the writer, Rita Mae Reese, left the identity of the patient and the carer genderless. Leaving it up to our creative minds to fill in the blanks.

This poem, “Dear Reader“, is not a poem one reads and immediately whips out the pen and notebook because of its poetic inspiration. No, it’s one of those reads which strike a chord in the heart. For lack of better wording, it’s what I like to call “beautiful and heartwarming”, and reading it, left me wanting more of it. Below is the poem:

Dear Reader by Rita Mae Reese
You have forgotten it all.
You have forgotten your name,
where you lived, who you
loved, why.
I am simply
your nurse, terse and unlovely
I point to things
and remind you what they are:
chair, book, daughter, soup.

And when we are alone
I tell you what lies
in each direction: This way
is death, and this way, after
a longer walk, is death,
and that way is death but you
won’t see it
until it is right
in front of you.

                Once after
your niece had been to visit you
and I said something about
how you must love her
or she must love you
or something useless like that,
you gripped my forearm
in your terrible swift hand
and said, she is
everything
—you gave

me a shake—everything
to me.

                   And then you fell
back into the well. Deep
in the well of everything. And I
stand at the edge and call:
                      chair, book, daughter, soup. 

If you could describe this poem in two words, what would they be?