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My skin is slowly dying, untouchable
Makes me eternal in my soul
My strength has fallen away~

I feel the darkness
The Sweetness, the lullabies
Dusk have it flirting with blackness
Time will tell~

All the trembling
The promises like my prayers
Needs the darkness
Need the whispers of the night~

I feel the darkness
In my soul, shed blindness to witness
Shared color of blackness
Just one more time~

Darkness lingers over my body
Through a flicker like a memory
Searing through the corner of my bones
Fears and joys and smiles, please just one more time~

Make me feel the light
Just one more time
then maybe I could be strong~**

Brooke Dylan @
this was inspired by a friend of mine .. his Poem **"My Strength is Gone"**
The light of heaven is flooding the earth
the depths of divine love flows through each birth
let us connect within each others hearts
at the moment with two to choose from the arts~

There stood their souls among the falling
dawn sat before the sunrise forestalling
as the moans were the deepest as they arose
the hurt is vulnerable like a black rose
in the forest that came way down deep alone
was the moan~

Dew drops in the dawn weighs down the petals
darkness, lightening, flames, in the fire of metals
burns deeply in the consciousness and flames
the wrath and anger can be felt that blames,
can reign deep in your bones
as the Storm brings the unconscious so alone
as it moans~

debbie
My Silver tongued darling
He approached me at the park in the dark
Sitting on a bench watching lovers
A smile and his eyes screamed at me
A sliver streak through his hair
I smiled as he sat next to me
His hand touched my knee
A silver ring on his little finger
We said not a word just a silent stare
Message received we walked away
My skirt fluttered in the breeze
Silver shoes upon my feet
My place close at hand
Inside the door a kiss that lasted all night long~

Always wanted to be a poetess
With a skip and a jump into
A silver tongue darling, that he is...
Dear Poet friends. After reading Dolly Lama’s poem ‘Poetry Helps Heal’, I was reminded of a poem I composed many years ago titled ‘The Healing Power of Poetry’. This poem is not a work of fiction, but based on reality. Hope you like it, and tell your friends to read the same. Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.


  THE HEALING POWER OF POETRY:
    KNOWN  AS  ‘BIBLIOTHERAPY’

The word Poetry derives from the Greek word ‘poesis’,
Which means ‘a making’ of a literary art form,
Where language is used for its evocative, aesthetic,
and emotional response.
A poem is an emotional-intellectual-physical construct, -
meant to touch its reader’s heart!
Poetry links one individual to another by its
distilled experience.
Through its rhythm of words and imagery,  -
driving away our inner loneliness!

‘Words are the physicians of the diseased mind’, -
Oceanus  tells Prometheus in ancient Greek
Mythology.
Thus the Oracles at Delphi used the healing power
of poetry, -
Through their various ritualistic chants and
incantations;
And tamed many a savage mind into subjugation!

The Roman physician Soranus in the First Century
AD,
Had prescribed poetry and drama for his patients
who were mentally oppressed;
Tragedy for his maniac patients, and Comedy for
the depressed.
The great psychiatrist Sigmund Freud had clarified,
That it was not he but the Poet, who had discovered
the Subconscious Mind!
Freud went on to say that the human mind is a
poetry-making *****;
Focus of ‘poetry for healing’ is self-expression and
growth of the individual.
Whereas focus of ‘poetry as an art’ becomes the
very poem itself!
But both use the same technique Freud had said;
Words, rhythm, metaphors, sound, and images,
But in the end the result is the same.
The word ‘therapy’ comes from the Greek word
‘therapeia’, -
Meaning to nurse or cure through dance, song,
drama or poetry;
Perhaps the divine way to poetic therapy!
It is therefore not surprising that Asclepius, the
Greek God of Healing,
Is the son of Apollo, the God of Poetry and Medicine!

The first hospital for the mentally ill in the American
Colonies,
Was set up in Pennsylvania in 1751, by Benjamin
Franklin.
Where a number of ancillary treatments were used,
Including the writing of poetry and reading it aloud.
Written by the patients who were mentally ill.  @ (see notes)
‘Bibliotherapy’ was the term used for poetic therapy,
Which had become popular during the Sixties and
the Seventies.
It was also effectively used in Group Therapy,
With patients sharing their feeling and emotions,
Providing a release for their inner pain and tension !
The rhythm and repetition of words often created
a hypnotic trance, -
Reaching out to those ‘secret places’ - creating a
bridge, -
To that unconscious mind from which poetry springs!
Friends, in support of what I have just said let me
quote,
Those immortal lines which Robert Frost once wrote;-
“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
  But I have promises to keep,
  And miles to go before I sleep,
  And miles to go before I sleep” # (see notes below)

Foot Notes: ** Initially poetry was ****** recited and also sung to the accompaniment of the lyre. After the invention of  writing, it started to develop its own form. Forms make arrangement out of derangement, harmony out of discord, and order out of chaos!
@= Writings of some of these patients were also published in a newspaper titled “The Illuminator”.
# = Lines quoted above are from Robert Frost’s famous poem, “Stopping by The Woods on A Snowy Evening”, - were extensively
used for poetic therapy at the Hospital.
        All Copy Rights Reserved By the Author Raj Nandy

--------------------------------------------------------­------------------------
A short and an earlier popular poem of mine. Hope you like it! Thanks, - Raj, New Delhi.

       THE SURF-RIDER !
See him riding gallantly the crest of
waves,
With dexterity and poise and flowing
grace!
He rises to descend, to rise once more,
As the waves keep rolling towards the
shore!
Like those surfs the Rider continues his
mellifluous dance ,
Be it in England, in Spain or in France;
Riding high on waves as if in a trance!
The wind churns up the waves as it rises
and swells,
As the Rider manoeuvers his wake-board
riding those crests before it breaks !
Like a gymnast he executes strong cutbacks
- to reverse his turn,
His spirit dominate as the waves rise and
churn!
He did take his time to perfect his art ,
Having loved the sea  and the surf from the
very start!
He learnt to live in moments just like those
dancing waves,
Floating on their crests as his blood within
raves!
Those surfs like musical notes rise up and
fall,
Where some surfs are short and others tall !
Like a philharmonic conductor par-excellence,
He commands those waves with his skilful
presence!
Friends, riding on Time’s moments is no mean
art,
But like the Surf-rider one must make a gallant
start !
                                          -Raj Nandy, New Delhi
Having read about surf riders and having seen them in action, I was inspired to compose this short poem for you. For reading thank you! -Raj
I am,
Sorrow that weeps,
A little bit happiness that creeps
Remorse afloat, in my silk coat
Emptiness that appears, as silence leers
Fading a shadow, far below
Begging forgiveness, lots of emptiness~

I am
Cemented dreams, gone to extremes
Song of despair, not knowing I care
Tears grabbing, hands jabbing
Wisps of cries, light up in the sky~

I am
Eyes pleading, heart bleeding
Passion that is no more, trying to ignore
Breath held, trying to expel
Life is gone, not so brawn~

I am
Holding lifeless, so breathless
Sobs of redemption, seize upon preemption
Full fledged devastation, marks no exemption
Temptress aching, no remaking~

The Disillusion Is Me~

Debbie Brooks @ 2016
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