Skip to main content

SOUL SCREAM by Catherine Ghosh

A very close friend of mine challenged me to do this …

She dared me to share one of my recent poems. At first I was hesitant. I explained to her that my poetry is not usually spiritually uplifting. This is because I only seem to write poems when I feel the most tested in life.

Writing a poem can be a cathartic experience for me. It helps me process emotions. It also illuminates them. Poetry is the way I’ve entered into dialogue with my own inner struggles and aches, ever since I was a child. So, my poetry, I told my friend, may not be the kind of poetry that people enjoy reading. And writing poetry is a very private process for me, I told her. “So what?” She said. “Share it anyway!”

My friend pointed out to me that every day I share the poems of women from all over the world on this blog, but that I rarely share my own. It’s true. Since I began this poetry project, I’ve published close to 600 poems, and only eight of them have been mine. And, I have to confess, that I later deleted half of them hoping no one would notice. Yes, I erase my own voice. Ironic, I know. Tonight, however, I meet my friend’s challenge and share a poem of my very own, for a change.

This poem is about vulnerability. As a highly sensitive, empathic woman, I sometimes feel as if I am vulnerable to all the changes happening around me, from the phases of the moon to the monthly cycles in my own body. Whether it’s a shift in the outer cosmos or the galaxies within me, for me, these changes are sometimes marked by a bit of existential anxiety: times in which my self feels shaky. This poem chronicles one such time.  

Soul Scream
by Catherine Ghosh

Waxing moon, waning sleep
I sift reality
through a hormonal sieve.

Swelling breasts, shrinking calm
My fringed soul
is mocked by the dawn.

Birds sing, the owls go mute
existential angst
fuels my internal disputes.

Rising orb, descending fears
my parachute rips
before courage appears.

Welcoming tangles, yet shunning the thread
Only scratchy conflict
turns with me in bed.

Dispersed pieces, fragmented light
I am slices of being
hiding from sight.

Snippets of person, scattering about
Connecting the dots
I murder my doubt.

Ambiguous identity, solid theme:
Before I start to bleed
I always hear my soul scream.

Moon wanes, sleep grows
Now I slip into the center
Where peace flows.
Pictured is the author under an ancient Live Oak tree, Alachua, Florida

Catherine Ghosh is an artist, mother, and editor of Journey of the Heart: An Anthology of Spiritual Poetry by Women (Balboa Press, 2014) and Where Journeys Meet: The Voice of Women's Poetry (Golden Dragonfly Press, 2015.) As a practitioner of Bhakti Yoga since 1986, Catherine co-founded of The Secret Yoga Institute, together with her life partner Graham M. Schweig, through which she develops teaching materials for yoga workshops. Her meditation videos have been shown at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, DC, and she has served as a contributing editor for Integral Yoga Magazine. Her writings have appeared in The Interfaith Observer, Mantra, Yoga & Health Magazine, Namarupa, Rebelle Society, The Harmonist, The Tattooed BuddhaBacopa Literary Review and others.  Catherine is passionate about inspiring women to share their spiritual insights and honor their valuable voices. She lives in a rural setting delighting in communing with nature, quilting, crocheting and writing poetry, among other artistic activities. You may visit her on her website, or connect with her on FaceBookTwitter, or email at

~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 


  1. the kind of poetry that I ACHE, I LONG to read, to feel, is expression of experience NOW, in someone's body, or in my body. words that don't need to make literal sense, because as empathic power-full shamans, we women, our living feel-ing body has her very own language, the hormone body screams and cries in her own language, the Heart of Hearts that pumps our life-blood does not speak in words that appear to the logic mind..... there is so great a distance between feelings, our experiences, gut-wrenching, bliss-full, blood-full, extasy, screams, whispers, tickles, and Love so vast and massive not a single word in any worldly language can begin to describe... so great a distance between these, our lives, and words in a spoken mind-language... that our living poetry expresses as a heart-beat, a gaze, a touch, a sob, a light-ray, a collapse, an ache so deep we disappear into it, a whisper of sweet breath, a caress, a dance, a fist pounding a door, banging my head on a wall to relieve the heart pain, ..... well, you get my drift, dear feeling woman...... YOU, my love, are living poetry, whether you speak in words or breathe life, I can feel the galaxies dancing and swirling in your body, just as they do in mine. I am blessed by the precious gift of your life lived according to your body, your heart, your god, your love. the living, breathing poetry of YOU. I bless you as you bless all creation......

  2. This is a beautifully raw poem, ripe with emotion and imagery. You allow so many of us to share our voices, our hearts, with others, please always feel free and open to share yours. It is a blessing to all who hear it.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

MY HEART SEEPS by Edith Lazenby

Courage is not only facing fear, but also looking past fear, to see what lies it tells and truths it saves...
Sometimes I sit at a computer in trepidation. The house trembles and I wonder what I will find. 
Truth is not a fact or a feeling. It may rest on love’s heart and walk with integrity. It may stand beyond humanity in ways we can only imagine. Truth can be solid as earth and fickle as wind. But a wind can know stillness and the earth can crack wide open.
Tonight I found a stillness in a crack and managed to balance there...

My Heart Seeps
by Edith Lazenby
I cannot hold on And I cannot let go. I walk a path I don’t know. I feel moonlight But cannot see Its orb midst The cloudy cold. My hands tremble. My eyes tear. My toes wriggle To grasp earth. I want to stand Tall in the light Yet fear shadows all. Inside I crumble Under the weight I cannot shoulder.

FOR THE SISTERS by Tammy T. Stone

These days, I’m finding it difficult – along with many, many others - not to feel disheartened...
I'm disheartened by the feeling that chaos has descended upon us, at the negativity and fear, the anger and reactivity, the violent spirit of animosity characterizing the times. It’s hard not to give in to the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, even as we cling to the strong conviction that it is our positivity and our love that will prevail.
Every crevice of my heart goes out to the suffering (and we are all suffering when one of us suffers), and my heart aches for the untold numbers of women around the world who are immediately and devastatingly affected by recent decisions to cut funding to organizations vital to their health and wellbeing, a movement that horrifyingly undermines women’s sovereignty over their own bodies. Words do not do the feeling justice.
It feels to me that the earth itself is overturning, that our fragile grasp of what is right and true, of our incredibl…

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness…
Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather all of life into your inner c…