Exquisite Sadness, Peculiar Madness

To all mothers, motherly friends, maternal guardians…

Happy Mothers Day!

~Infinitely,

Nicola An

—Infinitely,

I finally wrote this May flowers poem!

I hope I am not too late to wish you a fresh and zestful new start; my blessings have been pouring after weeks of dread and internal collapse, I feel like I can cover the whole world with flowers because of this enormous joy so I’d like to share this celebration of my “small victories” through writing this poem for you. May the message of this poetry conjure your blessings as well! 💐🪷🌼✨

Thank you for taking your time to read!

Only Love, only light 💖💫

~Infinitely,

April 1st, feeling quite glum but also still so divinely guided because I was able to write profusely today. Just in time for National Poetry Month , I hope to accomplish more poems this month!

Praying for an abundant and productive April for you Love! ✨🙏🏼

~Infinitely,

Nicola An

Spring rose blossom.

Watching the rain fall, Knitting in front of the fire. A 1st cup of coffee. Happy to begin with another day.

Writing a haiku for and about Earth as today’s Earth Hour activity. Keep our Mother sanctified, don’t forget to honor her! 🌎💚

~Infinitely, Nicola An

A reminder from my poetry book “ The Universe at Heartbeat “ ✨

Keep waking up for your dreams!

Only Love, only Light

~Infinitely,

Nicola An

Book copies: https://a.co/d/00xLFbll

“I like pretty things, featherlight and sentimental

More often than not, my fragility appears mental

Because as a woman, I possess such tremendous energy

Akin to creation's throes and fecundity... “

—Infinitely, Nicola An

“Shall I begin to write again or shall I dismiss every urge of untethered scribbling? These poems inside me are like hundreds of lost souls screaming to be reborn, but every so often I play safe and let them fall on deaf ears. Why am I taunted—why am I so anxious to write again as if confronting my words is searing my flesh? How is it possible for something that saved me to feel perilous now? Perhaps the world has become more fallible and aggressive that it seems everyone doesn’t run out of things to attack or argue about, so I fear that expressing may only take part in this relentless cacophony.

I pray I can begin to write again with confidence of soaring, never looking down to cautiously probe what could go wrong—to be possessed by the same freedom that once raised me from my doom and dread.”