I write because I read. I read because I write.
means green leavesor wilted ones for roots waiting to be buried in a new soil (after breakingitself in half to tasteone fine sunray). meansthe distance betweentomorrow's to-do list and last night cricket'spillow-in-tears. means some more carbon dioxideexhaled after a brief tripinside your lungs, one breath, and anotheruntil your flesh fingersmelt with the old roots of… Continue reading now
rolled sunset crawlsto kiss whale's home,persimmon spilled.wilted leaves archtowards foliage tomb,autumn fulfilled. cold keys hangvoid of fingers, warm, bite the seed of hopewill it burst somebitter crumb? consider the possibilityof wings once our breathssuccumb — 11.17.2020©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.… Continue reading take a seat and see
A peaceful Sunday, watching queen sun's everyday bowing, with a shaken call, soul-stirring words, i learned of your sudden passing, premature, it is, a thief of sonnets I did not see coming, with a holed heart I ache for your pen's rash drying. — A poem I wish I never had to write for my… Continue reading A quadrille for my Rodnoy, my king of sonnets
Inside silence, a flower blooms, Lifting petals, leaking perfume. Lull can also be beautiful. Microscopic lens slowly zooms, locates a dead leaf ‘s many rooms. Death can also be beautiful. — 03.23.2018 ©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo via Unsplash In response to Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo 2018. G is for Go Vat.… Continue reading lulled death (a go vat)
When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi Rating: ❤❤❤❤❤ What is it about: At the age of thirty-six, on the verge of completing a decade's worth of training as a neurosurgeon, Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer. One day he was a doctor treating the dying, and the next he was a patient struggling to live.… Continue reading Book Review: When Breath Becomes Air
Steps. More steps. Pointed heels tap, tapping, Hard soles clank, clanking, against the tiled, abused floor. The invading final rays of the setting sun again entered unwelcome, between the squared gaps of the rusting wired fence. The outside world's noise, helped him in keeping me silent. Even the orange veil connived in hiding me beneath… Continue reading orange veil
More shots fired, bang! bang! Another mug overflowed with blood, blood. Blood from veins of the innocents. Veins pulsing, asking, why oh why, again? Till when, oh please, till when? Who turned on the faucet of this intoxicating hate? How many pills of love, should the orphaned earth take to end this bloody hangover? —… Continue reading B l o o d y H a n g o v e r
after more than a decade of virtual hugs and late night chats, the four girlfriends have finally met again for a summer picnic. two married, one engaged, one still single, they've bonded because of one common denominator: a guy they played love with. a nerd from college who's known for his ragged blue jeans and an old-day-smelling shirt. under the hot sun with… Continue reading The Picnic
the gentle whispers of the trees' breeze. the tender murmur of river's flow. the playful tweets of the little birds. these sweet sensual delights are the reasons why we used to visit this river. the river we called ours. today i clutch unto you, unto your vessel. your vessel made of cold porcelain, a stark contrast… Continue reading Our River
I smell how the supposed sweet, summer aroma turned into a chilling winter scent as I watch how her soft, smooth skin turns from blushed pink to lifeless violet. I listen to her frail heartbeats, silently begging, pleading, helpless against her quite incoming death. With a tear-stained face, my mouth utters its own prayer as… Continue reading Spring Bud
A Reading Writer 