s a n c t u a r y

Clothed pair of soles
dressed in faux leather top
and synthetic rubber pants,

clanking, clanking,
against the cobbled,
sometimes cemented
concrete jungle paths,

dreams to be
bare and naked
against the foliage
of the fallen petals
of Autumn trees,

ready and brave
to be pricked with
the crisp and thin
sun-dried twigs,

for the slave feet of the city
yearns to be the lost queen
of the wild—

the sanctuary
of the soul’s respite.

—

05.02.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse Let’s Get Wild!

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hatch

egg out of
your hard-outside,
fragile-inside,
self-made
shell of hate,

hardened by
society’s caging
cruel words
of unbelief.
crack the

calcium carbonate
crystal, with
each drumming of
your tired yet

unrelenting heart,
create a freeing hole
of hope. welcome
the sunrays of faith.

hatch.

—

03.27.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse Quadrille #53 – Egg

scintillate

Under the bleeding sky
welcoming dawn dressed
in scintillating virgin
rays of the sun fresh from
its nightlong slumber,

breathe in, breathe out.

Feel your beating chest,
smell your flowing breath,
cherish this moment with
no one but yourself.

—

02.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse Soul gazing

my sun

My love affair with words and rhymes started when I was a kid. I used to win slogan making contests, I used to sing songs with rhyming lyrics. Then I came across William Wordsworth’s “Daffodils”— the first seed of poetry planted inside me. Though my writing heart like Wordsworth’s cloud, wandered far and long. Aside from love notes in rhyming stanzas, I don’t really know much about poems. Then in 2015, I stumbled upon WordPress Poetry 101. With skilled and experienced poets I felt like a child on her first day in kindergarten. Clueless. Intimidated. Yet, deep inside determined.

After a few tries with rhymes and forms, the first haiku, the first sonnet, the first tanka, and then more free verses, I found the rhythm of my pen. Slowly, I befriended the beating ink flowing inside me, ever since. I found my soul’s oxygen. I started breathing again.

Here comes summer rays,
parting the veil of winter.
Poetry, my sun.

—

03.20.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse Haibun Monday: Who? What? Why?

bone and brain

Unbreakable bone
walled with
collagen and calcium,
ounce for ounce is
stronger than
a bar of steel.

Soft yet complex brain
tangled with
circuits of neurons
and nerves, byte per byte is
better than
a super computer.

Your anatomy is divine.
You’re not a super hero.
You’re a super human.

—

03.14.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse Super me! (as in the verb)

f r o z e n f i r e

Himalayan mountains whisper
their almost zero degree
breeze,

the choral of crickets
sings their nightly
lullaby,

the rare blue blood moon
leaks its silent yet
shining beams,

under layers of thick fabric,
behind the speechless,
wooden door,

we set the frozen world
on fire.

—

03.13.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse Quadrille #52 Let’s Fire it Up

B l o o d y H a n g o v e r

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?

—

Author’s Note: The prompt today was about “drinking”. And because I don’t drink (alcoholic drinks, or even wines, never had, never will :D), these lines leaked just like that.

For the lives ended by war, violence, depression, hate, this is my futile attempt to write an elegy for you.

Guns don’t kill people. People kill people. It’s one sad truth we witness every single day.

—

02.21.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse This one’s on me.

W i n t e r G r e y

Dressed in winter grey, the fading evening slowly makes way for the still sleepy, Himalayan sun. Rising to kiss the sneaking peaks of Mt. Kanchenjunga and Mt. Kabru, the first morning rays gently open my eyelids to show the gem beside me.

He wears a thick jacket, buried under our comforting, shared blanket. His arms wrapped on mine. His heartbeat with his rhythmic breaths create my early love song. My heart, listens, sighs, smiles.

Two frozen peaks wait
outside the grey-painted room,
he wears summer’s warmth.

—

02.20.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse The beauty and the misery of grey – Haibun Monday

P e d e s t r i a n ( A Tanka )

Is it to the right,
or is it to the near left?
Should I cross the bridge
or should I retreat before
the inevitable fall?

—

02.16.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash

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In response to dVerse MTB — Brevity

I m p r i n t

You carry

a bloodline
that has survived years
of hunger and hate,

a mutating gene
that has conquered
thousands of decaying dates,

the sturdy roots
of forefathers who had lived
for your beginning,

the dauntless bones
and bricks of humans
who valued breathing.

Survivor is long imprinted
in your veins.

You are born to break
limiting chains.

—

02.14.2018
©2018 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Image by artist Catrin Welz-Stein.

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In response to dVerse Inspired by Art!