Write Something; anything.

Tonight, I decide to write. Even though I am not particularly certain of the content or direction of my writing, I draw inspiration form a recent Quora post which encourages the expression of ideas that are present within our immediate thoughts. And you know, that, if only I had been disciplined enough to communicate these thoughts, on a daily basis through journaling those many events that attempted to denude my sanity,  I might have inadvertently been perceived a somewhat intriguing personality.

However, tonight, happens to be one of such nights when I get to spend another 12 hours on night shift, patiently awaiting on dusk to dawn, earnestly hoping that we do not have a code blue for the shift. Usually the better part of the day begins to surface when the sound of "good morning" greetings  is echoed repeatedly across the corridor that adjoins our different wards; the days when Monday mornings aren’t met with such gloom and deluded misery; the mornings when the thoughts of a comfy bed is so very near to mind, and it becomes all so acceptable to sleep lazily away the late morning hours.

At this moment, though, the focus is to just write…  however directionless. write write write write write: like if  the lady Rihanna were to 'write' instead of 'work'? ha!

But I soon will have to get off from writing and get back to work, because in front of me are patients with a myriad of ailments, who need the special type of care that I will have to provide when the needs arise. And until such a later time when I find adequate extra time in my hands for a proper post, this is just to keep the blog alive and updated in a direction it chose on its own.

Within

She radiates glory like the sun's rays

Beams of bright light

That sweep away

shadows of wishful cravings

cast to the floor.

Her appearance was of beauty

and
in the congregation

of things ornate

they worshipped.

Yet she walks listlessly

Seeking earnestly

 to find the one

Who might recognize

 the gem within

To find the one

Who might

take the time

to nurture her soul.

The Strive to glory

Life is but an unfolding of events.

A second by second stripping away of time

as we embark on our willfully thought out journey

which culminates in an epitome of memory.

Inch by inch,

it would seem appropriate

that we, ourselves, be the protagonist

 in the realm of our own existence.

Such that when our stories are told,

 in the peak moments before the call,

the voices that echo our stories

may reveal to every hearing ear within range

 that, truly, every man

 is presented an opportunity

to strive to glory or fold in shame.

Doctor

She walked hurriedly across the passage way

as the soles of her shoes,

 hanging knee length away from her white coat,

stealthily greeted the pristine polished floors.

Her appearance was grim,

Yet, within,
was a placid soul that was almost palpable.

And to her,

 I said, 

Doctor;

In a world that is crushed with wounded minds and broken spirits

There are hearts lying over these beds

That have been touched by the rare

Type of healing you breathe.

She looked close
with a humble gaze

and held a smile.