healing

healing is a missing
tone in the orchestra of grief --
where I grow wings, carry mother's
voice on my beak & peep into
the chronicles that mirror my
past.



there is healing in the
embrace of quietude by the night --
memories deserting bodies like
smoke deserts a burnt
firewood, wishes dissolving
into nothingness & children
falling into dreams.



there is healing in the
smile of a doctor on his
exit from a room --
with walls painted
with whispers of a mother;
whispering the lyrics of an
old song into the ears of a
newly born.

Sarafadeen Ibrahim

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Sarafadeen Ibrahim  would be pleased to hear them.