Beauty under the blade
In “Beauty under the blade”, the poet seeks to reveal the contrast between surface beauty with inner turmoil, using striking imagery to uncover profound truths beneath the surface.
I’d like to die only once
So, what if I smell, speak and look different,

So, what if I am drugged and obtunded?

I can still sense,

My emotions are not blunted.

Musing over ethics
Haiku, one of many notable imports worldwide from Japan, represents a characteristic way of expressing soulful thoughts in the form of a three-line verse pattern. The verses generally follow the 5-7-5 rule, corresponding to the number of syllables in each line. The haiku is capable of conveying s...
The warrior poet waits for spring
I live a meditative life in a green village in England. I was diagnosed with Lupus when I was 18 and some of my poetry writes itself in response to living with such a peculiar, demanding and life-altering illness. And some of it is about love longing hope birdsong waiting for spring... I write ab...
A dubious gift
Authorship may be "gifted" under pressure by the actual authors to a person with no major contribution to the research or writing, as the person is a senior, has an established reputation, or controls grant money.
The frosted glass ceiling of academic publication: Reflections…
The glorious world of plentiful, widely cited, high-impact publications is an achievable goal for some, but a mirage, or at least a none-too-easy dream to realise, for many. This poem presents some thoughts and trajectories on the latter — the aspiring and yet-to-be-successful majority.
I wonder, I wonder
Walking down the street, She wondered if she was alone… But a boy, Curled up in his room, was with her. Little did either know; And as tears poured down his cheeks, he wondered If he would ever be accepted, Just as she wondered the same.
To be forgotten with age
Cut them into a million slivers – they said, Shedding those facets would demean the layers beneath, No longer tied together in loops of infinity. No errors in their world as it’s pure of memories.
Ethical distancing in the pandemic
While science is busy, Breaking new ground; The lie has a field day.
Five Hums of a Hospital
It was only in the afternoon that I saw Dad for the last time. Haggard, oxygen at 70, being changed into a hospital gown. My pulse shot to 133 (I had an oximeter on hand) wondering whether this was the last meeting. There had been too many pictures of anonymous people in PPE cremating body bags.
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