The Nurse



The Nurse

And I quote, "To have such essence

paving way for our heart's incandescence

is heresy within souls' verity

and shaking me, pure asperity."


No fall on Earth is reminiscent

of such a visage, leaving fidelity sufficient.

Trembling me from a far is no miracle,

yet here you are, an account lyrical.


Beheld in the visions of blazing

thoughts melting hearts as I am praising.

An aspect of beauty blooming petals

every step and an heart cannot settle.


Two wanderers, one ablaze from a moment, fractured,

gazing upon Her as a heaven, fallen, enraptured.

And Her, an image of imagination, fecund,

An idea, shunned, and each step, stunned.


What is a man if not a pursuer of dreams

to bring forth hands connecting at seams?

Alas, this but a mere moment, fractured,

and there my image, in awe, captured.


A sense of wonder and reverence, fleeting

between my feet, treating it as a meeting

with no unity and a greeting, repeating

a heart that is heating and a purpose, self-defeating.


Her beauty, a mythic elevation of emotion,

Yet, drowning me in my sorrow's ocean.

Alas, the path that devours itself is a path

massacring, a heart's stage the bloodbath.


To stand still in time’s soft protest,

when breath forgets its humble quest,

is to find her gaze, a fleeting crest,

of grace unseen, in humble vest.


Her brow bore calm, a dawn alight,

with wisdom wrapped in human plight.

A healer’s poise, yet muse in flight,

her presence etched the soul with light.


Oh stranger, clad not in celestial hue,

but garbed in white, the purest view.

No psalm nor prayer my lips could hew,

to match what simple silence knew.


She walked... no, glided, not on ground,

but over thoughts, where dreams are bound.

The air behind her, music found,

a rhythm soft, yet most profound.


In sterile halls or city haze,

her glow would linger, bend the days.

A single glance, my mind betrays,

and wanders still through the hopeful maze.


The heart, that foolish architect,

builds castles where no paths connect.

Yet here I stand, in full respect,

of beauty met, in brief intersect.


Where flesh is flame and breath is wine,

our souls would knot through silk and spine.

A garden veiled in Eden’s hush,

where time dissolves in blushing rush.


In trembled dusk where stars descend,

our currents twine, our hungers bend.

Through cryptic pulse and sacred storm,

we’d shape the night in human form.


Let angels envy such a form,

where duty’s worn yet love is warm.

A nurse, a muse, beyond the norm,

a quiet storm, a sacred swarm.



It is true that this entire poem belongs to a nurse. Not just any nurse, mind you, but the nurse I was given the heavenly opportunity to witness. No fate entwined that is, and merely paths crossing among the noises of cars and the songs of sparrows, it was my duty to appreciate such a visage. Just as I appreciate each and every corner of existence (that I merely do (in my poems), this alone deserves an entire poem, or perhaps an anthology, to reflect a fraction of what I witnessed. The rest remains with me.


It feels incredible to be transparent, to share what I feel, what I loved and hated, symbolically and implicitly. It empowers me, my quill, my thoughts. It reminds me that moments are mere, and it is we, the strong beasts of fierce thoughts, that control time. In our words, we preserve time. In our words, we tame ourselves. Through emotions, we become champions of ourselves. Not to kill the past versions of ourselves, but to feed off them and leave a seed to bloom tomorrow. 


We, the fascinating ones. And my quill, the mirror.

Thank you, Nurse.

June 3, 2025



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