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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

--------------------------------------------------------­------------------------
There exists silence not found by sound,
..........
in the heart of a desert or deep
under oceans
...........
where, mutely profound,
voiceless vibrations intend to be given
full hearing for
destined truth their presence propounds
...........
thus when two
fated human souls meet and exchange
first rapt greetings
they too interpret belief, tho' not aloud,
silently speaking
to transfer desire of twin-flamed feelings
..........
knowing love's
secret whispers will never need sound.
How amazing that Now unveils its face,
sets me in motion,
reshapes and changes so life will embrace
my emergence as a free soul.

I suddenly feel like striding up mountains
reaching summits and
shout my request so that Fate may count
me blessed in this Everland.

Instead of digesting manna of loneliness
I shall dine on soul-bread
kneaded by affinity's fingers in golden
awareness I will never forget.

Heaven allows me to play destiny's hand
as it shows me new love
for in lighting faith's candle I understand
what time can no longer touch.

Transformed I will dance on a fresh alter,
imbibe desire's nectar
embrace the passion of later-love water
and taste bliss in pleasure's bed.

For a few precious moments I can escape
celled walls of apathy
and in unfettered Self-Space celebrate
belief in wished-for happiness.

When Now stands still I pledge to leap
between unused seconds
and ****** Fantasy's chances to hear
as another dimension beckons.
A verse to celebrate International Woman's Day.

I, Woman
consider myself rightly the female guardian
of humanity's decency,
the feminine mountain of care and example
of ageless achievement.

A win or lose mirror who separates dreamers
from willing doers
I have grown from challenging problems ready
to shape my future
and with endurance I look on any unassailable
course as already won.

I am Woman,
the force who owes all to her own existence,
the Self who, travelling towards
light of revelation discovers genuine courage
inside female gender.

I stand alone yet am happy to choose things
which I do with faith
in authenticity, facing consequence bravely.
An icon of tenderness,
an I who fosters respect but whose eye when
catching need feels tender compassion.

She who mother's man and leaps to defend
male maladjustment
when attacked by makers of trouble or a he
who allows doubt to undermine.

Inveterate my conscience treating all as free,
yet I know there is never a come or go,
not a yes or no,
nor a birth or death
with any whisper of weight ....... without Me.

I dare to make my own mistakes and have the
strength to forgive,
empowering thereafter some rectification.

But better look out, as when tested

I, Woman,

am impregnable.
Scent of the storm he aroused in my heart
sends memory's perfume to bathe
every tortured dream.
Whispers of verse seared to my core start
a chain of re-tasting late love's
delightful appeal.

Zest of meant words fed me excitement,
bound me to vows of contact on
fierce clandestine pyres.
Can pierced bliss retrieve grief's surprise
or from separate corners could we
re-charge empty fires ?

Intention's lost cause breeds displacing,
as hopes fade and lonely nostalgia
replaces out-worn plans.
Yet love's voice once heard is not effaced
and days arrive when comfort may
take hold of cold hands.

Past fragrance drunk down can enliven
and again make rejoicing recalled
stir heart's needed ferment.
Despite tears spilt at nectar's sweet lines
I still breathe his scent.
Let me show you the magic of how one dream
brings action into being.

Bells peal as Utopia opens for need unshackles
attraction that lasts.

I am the queen of Surreal whose spell will make
your wishes unbreakable.

I demonstrate fresh ways to enhance happiness
by alchemic fantasy.

The food of Eden grows round secret intentions
of sowing togetherness.

The feel of forever arises each time a proaction
evokes atoms of passion.

I am love's Muse so if your desire is for ecstasy
call nightly for me.

— The End —