Resonance of the Soul – Flowers and Harmonics is a heartfelt and unfiltered collection of poems that dives into the human condition, exploring themes of love, identity, culture, struggle, healing, and faith. What inspired you to write this particular collection of poems?

I was inspired by a love story—one that stirred memories of what truly matters in life. That experience, along with moments spent with patients nearing the end of their lives in hospice, reminded me how fragile and sacred our time is. A mentor also nudged me to complete my writing, reminding me that unfinished words can become unfinished healing. This collection became a way to honor those stories, those lives, and the emotional truths that often go unspoken.

Did you write these poems with a specific audience in mind, or was it a more personal endeavor?

I wrote for those without a voice—those caught in the throes of indecision, those marginalized by circumstance, and even those who seem entitled or indifferent but are quietly searching for meaning. While the journey began as personal, it quickly became communal. I wanted these poems to reach anyone who’s ever felt unseen, unheard, or underestimated. It’s a companion for the lonely, the faithful, and the quietly resilient.

What was the biggest challenge you faced in putting together this poetry collection?

Time. Not just the literal hours needed to write and revise, but the emotional timing—knowing when I was ready to revisit certain memories, and when the world might be ready to receive them. Balancing my clinical responsibilities with the vulnerability required to write was also a challenge. But I learned that when something truly matters, you make time for it.

How has this poetry book changed you as a writer, or what did you learn about yourself through writing it?

I’ve come to appreciate the effort and emotional discipline it takes to create something meaningful. Writing this book taught me that poetry isn’t just about language—it’s about listening, about honoring silence, and about crafting space for others to feel seen. I learned that my voice carries weight not because it’s loud, but because it’s rooted in truth. And I discovered that healing—whether clinical or poetic—requires presence, patience, and grace.

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