Healing winters

Megha's World

First Published on Vita Brevis Literature

richard-hoeg-116757-unsplash.jpgLove speaks me through the languid branches

of almost naked trees

pickled by the snow,

in the early misty cold mornings.

Steering through the voiceless din.

my mind wanders

and clutches to the last sane thought

trying to figure out

the map,

the cartography of healing,

the trail to sanity.

I could faintly hear the laughter hidden in those trees

they do sob sometimes and tell

the stories of survival

those broken branches

and the frail twigs have suffered

the rage of the summer sun

and still, stand tall

to face the wrath of the winter.

Even their dead skeleton in winters

carves out a beautiful silhouette in the night

pleasing to the eyes and soul,

I heal through the broken twigs of these branches

frail yet surviving.

–Megha

Photo by Richard Hoeg on Unsplash

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Heal

Megha's World

thought-catalog-246312

To teach is to healmaybe I could feelthe words that they feelgoing over the lessons and chapters againmaybe I could learn themeaning tuckedin the dog-eared pagesTo teach is to healmaybe I can smell the fragranceof the rose safely tuckedin the pages of that book again.
To teach is to healmaybe my soul can be reminded againof the morals hidden in thestory of our life
without giving it all awayTo teach is to healmaybe I can be guided by the lightI'm carrying for themmaybe they become the beacon
for my lost souland show it the way homeTo teach is to healmaybe I get  a second chance in lifeto redo all the storiesmaybe this timeI can safely eraseall the hidden hurt and pain.To teach is to heal...


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Healing

Megha's World

_javarts_-598814-unsplash.jpg

My bloated thoughts

in my withered body

swimming

through the turbid emotions

unperturbed

unmoved

un-oscillating

dead and stale

lying motionless

in the stench of the old memories

I sit and sip though time

my haggard face

and the crestfallen soul

carries those

inundated tales of pain

through the thin stale air in the room

carrying the silvery dust

thought that sliver of sunshine

and the Brownian dance

which tangles in my thoughts and

titillate my senses

Till I choke

and purge

regurgitate

on my welting soul

and wait for one more

day of

the silvery moonlight

to heal those

scars.

Photo by _Javarts_ on Unsplash

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Little something for the Dads this time

Madison Elizabeth Baylis

Little something for the Dads this time… (taking a moment away from trying to put a book together for everybody) because you know what is looming right around the corner. Maybe a little sage advice… or at least a little something learned at the school of hard knocks…
Maybe the pain I have experienced can be helpful to somebody else.
Just a little moment of truth, and word of encouragement before facing another estranged Father’s Day…
In case anyone is interested, the answer is yes.
Yes, Dads feel estrangement every bit as deeply as Moms…
And yes, it’s just as difficult for us to get through Father’s Day…
And yes, just like the Moms, there is something special about a Father’s relationship with his kids that really can’t be explained or replaced… it’s unique, and special… just like Moms.
Anybody that thinks we don’t feel the pain as much because…

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