Expressions of Healing

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For Whom The Bells Toll...

John Donne, you may have implied a hundred things, I know not, was not there, I think? History, a step-child of its own. Unsure of reincarnations or karmic cycles. Always incomplete, sometimes glorious or pedestrian, sometimes a ravaged past… don’t ever forget to ask hackneyed questions...… who wrote, when, why, what? Only the foolish marched steadily into pungent trenches shying away from truth…… simply… as debatable as division of last pie slice between siblings. Let’s just stick with existence.

Existence, my naive friend, is a magician’s trick, in deep hiding, avoiding eye contact like strangers on a rainy night, running, not sprinting, sometimes walking, hesitatingly, wondering if the bells will toll for us, them, him, her, you, me, today, that night, some night, some day, morn, noon or night?

Night or day, now, mind you, I relish rain like hot showers that hide my tears in the waterfall; no one listening. Listening is an intrusion. Rejuvenating water too failed to assist “Our Phoenix” in the rise from ashes. I know, it’s mythical, let me dream of risings…

Rising or falling, or rolling, the bells keep tolling, sounding and resounding, unwanted, unwelcome, could I wrench them free off their roots? Roots, acceptance of which take me back then to why the bells tolled for the ones I loved, when they did, how they did. They probably know now. My heart is left trying to catch just a whiff of that key, nestling on lower planes, without fitting, like a reluctant fall leaf…

Poet: Anita Nahal

Identity Crisis

Here I lie


broken and fractured

seeking that which I lost

I'm now bruised and battered

black and blue permeate my being

vision blurred, speech slurred

I am left bleeding

Alone in anguish and destitute

confusion reigns

while I am irresolute

Injured, abandoned and forsaken

my character is fragmented

Pieces, for the taking

wretched and isolated

imprisoned in my mind

where is the solace I seek to find

Naked and tormented

I search for me


under fatal insecurity

emotionally raped

because I let the thief

steal my identity

Poet: Shiqeerah N. Ebanks