Writer’s Quote: Ella wheeler Wilcox

Writer’s Quote: Ella wheeler Wilcox

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I found the above quote while scrolling through my twitter feed and had to share it. Why? Because the atrocities going on in this world are so much that we may sometimes forget there is kindness in this world,

Because, young girls are dying and children are dying. Because, the current generation which are the future are grieving; they’re mourning; their innocence dimming as they see murder  happening around them everyday, it may as well be classified as normal. Because the upcoming generation, and not just those growing up in Syria or Iran or Kashmir, but all around the world- in Nigeria, in Turkey, in Bangladesh, in Palestine, in the United Kingdom, in the states, deserve to have a sky devoid of air strikes, a crowd devoid of bomb blast. They deserve to have peace.

I hope to convey my emotions by sharing the following poem by Ella wheeler Wilcox as my writer’s quote/poem Wednesday submission. I may not be in the North-Eastern part of Nigeria where the boko-haram insurgency has crippled their inhabitants, I may not be in Syria and Palestine where their lives are under constant terror and little seems to be done about it, I may not be in the United Kingdom where a coward of person takes the lives of innocent citizens. But in the words of Ella Wheeler, I echo your cries and I echo your sorrows.

The little white hearse by Ella wheeler Wilcox

Somebody’s baby was buried to-day–
The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,
And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,
And a shadow seemed drawn o’er the sun’s golden track.

Somebody’s baby was laid out to rest,
White as a snowdrop, and fair to behold,
And the soft little hands were crossed over the breast,
And those hands and the lips and the eyelids were pressed
With kisses as hot as the eyelids were cold.

Somebody saw it go out of her sight,
Under the coffin lid–out through the door;
Somebody finds only darkness and blight
All through the glory of summer-sun light;
Somebody’s baby will waken no more.

Somebody’s sorrow is making me weep:
I know not her name, but I echo her cry,
For the dearly bought baby she longed so to keep,
The baby that rode to its long-lasting sleep
In the little white hearse that went rumbling by.

I know not her name, but her sorrow I know;
While I paused on the crossing I lived it once more,
And back to my heart surged that river of woe
That but in the breast of a mother can flow;
For the little white hearse has been, too, at my door.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-little-white-hearse-by-ella-wheeler-wilcox

Life (as she knows it)

Life (as she knows it)

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What is life but a series of curveballs,
Of deaths which come unannounced,
Of heartaches and tear stained pillows,
Of forevers which end in the now.
Of betrayal by those whom you’d offer,
Your head on the pedestal for;
Of regrets and could haves, all the chances
For which a second, might not arrive.

She believed she had mastered life’s pattern,
All the crannies and nooks on its vast…
But the life that she knew was one sided,
Woven up and knitted out in pain…
She had seen loss one after another,
There was only so much she could take,
‘Fore the unbroken diamond she once was,
Lost its shine, by walling up pain.

If you see her she still is unbroken,
But her shine is never the same.


Side note: There has been a death in the family as a few of my blogging friends know. And that’s the reason for my absence from the blogging world for this month of may. Will get back to your comments and posts as soon as things settle down. 

G- Grief

G- Grief

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They’d tell you they’re sorry,
While you stare at the floor;
Wondering how on earth,
A part of you is now gone;
Their words sound so foreign,
Till your love’s name comes up;
Every mention- a drill,
Burning a hole in your heart,

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
And you wonder what for-
It wasn’t their fault,
Heck it wasn’t anyone;
You envision them strolling to
The arms of their love;
Looking down through welled eyes,
At the emptiness of yours.

They’d tell you they’re sorry,
And that they understand,
But you know they cannot fathom
The loss you incurred,
So you nod as they murmur
Words, meant to comfort-
Praying to God, he Is at much
Much more peace, than you are.

B- Baby in heaven

B- Baby in heaven

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Silence blankets the room,
I see your pale feet,
Hanging,
From a gloved hand-
Silence blankets the room.

Joy washes over me-
9 months of weight,
18 hours of- my God-
Torturous pain,
Relief washes over me, but
Silence blankets the room.

A life- I have carried a life,
A symbol- of my other half,
A sign- we were meant to be,
My baby- I see his feet
But-
Silence blankets the room.

Silence blankets the room,
Seconds turn to minutes,
My baby’s chest-
Doesn’t move,
His voice- goes unheard,
Eyes…
It dawns on me as,
Silence blankets the room.


Towards the end of last year, i did six weeks of obs and gynae shift. I saw Joy, pain and loss. I remember a patient who was in the hospital from 9am to around 7pm who was in labour, with the knowledge that the baby was dead. I can’t even imagine the strength it takes to go through the pain of childbirt, knowing the baby within has no heartbeat. And my sister (also a medical student) saw a similar case, and this time, it was actulaly triplets, To lose three kids all at the same time… For me, these women are survivors.

The beautiful image above is courtesy of Pinterest/ Anything will do

On Loss-

On Loss-

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There is no preparation, no test; neither assignment nor hint to prepare us for certain things in this world. We see tales of tragedies and its almost always someone else’s family, no one expects its going to be theirs. No one prepares for that. And then it happens.
The dreaded phone call which brings our carefully crafted glass house of security, crashing with one single statement- “I’m sorry”.

Sorry. And you wonder what they are sorry for. Sorry for the fact they couldn’t save “her”, sorry that it was too late, sorry there’s little they they can do to appease your pain, sorry that they have to be the bringer of bad news, or simply sorry for the departure of another beautiful soul from the world.

There is no preparation, no practice… In that Moment, you either walk across the broken shards feeling the loss with every stinging sensation or, you stare unmoving, long and hard at the broken pieces. Nothing can prepare you for that split second reaction. You either grieve or you don’t…

The above image is courtesy of: Campus health.unc

Flash Fiction: Grief…

Flash Fiction: Grief…

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Jenna was leaning against a wall at the edge of a long winded passageway. Her body, obscuring a better half of the passage from the rays of the sun.
My feet were tired from running, and I swear I could hear the incessant terrifying flutter of my heart. It was times like those, I regretted not putting in extra couple of hours at the gym.

By the time I got to Jenna, I was panting, barely able to make complete sentences.
“We’ve been worried sick looking for you!”, I managed after a few moments of getting-myself-together.
Jenna looked up and smiled. I could tell from the redness of her sclera and her stained cheeks, she’d been crying… Again.

I made space for myself beside her. Eventually she spoke,
“This grief, does it- does it ever get easier”, she choked. Placing her hand on what used to be a growing bump, her baby bump.
Staring into the abyss, I placed her hand in mine and let the silence answer…


word count :168. This story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you @storyteller’sabode for this week’s image.

I know I have been awol this week. I will try my best starting today to get around all the long overdue comments for which I do apologize. And I do miss reading you posts and I’m looking forward to them.