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Dealing with the past trauma in creative way

Updated on October 14, 2016
Beata Stasak profile image

Beata works as a qualified primary school teacher, a councillor for drug and alcohol addiction and a farm caretaker for organic olive grow.

The bridge over the troubled water

From the past

through the present

to the future

we shuffle on the bridge

of our lives

some of us

see just the finishing line

not even noticing

the gentle flow

some of us

gets stuck

in the middle

smelling the roses

as they go

and some of us

gets stuck

at the start...

Never truly be able

to make

that first step

too scared

to cross the bridge

of life

too scared

to find out

what lies ahead

so they keep

living over and over

in our heads

the horrors

or the sweetest moments

if they are lucky enough

that beginning

of their special time

when it all have started

just for them...

It was so hot last night

I opened the window to look out

and asked the stars

what my future holds

when my long lost cousin called…

Do you remember? She asked

I do, I whispered

searching desperately

in all the dark corners of my mind

there it was

he big old clutch of dust

still clouding my heart

I forgot to clean ir up..

My cousin kept talking

while I was struggling to untangle

the dirty secret of the past

we both have been always

scared to mention or remember

She said she is sick

in her body and her mind

when she can not breathe

she wonders out

and walks again all those paths

we used to walk hand in hand

her and I …

I can not find you there anymore,

she whispered,

did you abandon me too?

No one else can understand

what we went through,

no one else can relate,

please do not forget

the black and white snaps

of our childhood

I will be all alone


if you do…

I sigh, and say

I am still here,

the old photo album

in my lap

covered in the worn out rabbit’s skin

my grandfather skinned

with his skilful hands

and I opened it


on the page

she wanted me too

and together

we roam again

the human misery

the smallness of one human soul

and hate

just to wipe

my old grandma’s handkerchief

on my cheek

all those tears

that never spilled

because we have been

just too scared

to cry

back then…

Until she finds her peace


my long lost

and always so close to me

sister of my soul

but just for tonight

I know

because the morning comes

and she will call again,

always searching

always hungry

to find the answers

for the questions

she doesn’t know how to ask

so she keeps wandering


among the crowds

of strangers

who are deaf and blind

until she spots me

somewhere in the distance

and she runs

oh how fast she runs

just to catch the glimpse

of me

and shouts


you are the only bridge

I have left

to cross back to the past...

I turn back to hear her pleads

but this time I just wave,

the old rabbit’s skin book

thrown over the rail

to the muddy waters below

I shake my head

and beckon her to follow me

I am already in the middle

of my bridge of life

there is no turning back...


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    • Beata Stasak profile imageAUTHOR

      Beata Stasak 

      2 years ago from Western Australia

      Thank you my fellow brave warrior of life:) I am happy our hearts had a good talk, that is what creative poetry is about:)

    • bravewarrior profile image

      Shauna L Bowling 

      2 years ago from Central Florida

      Wow, Beata! Very powerful! The visuals you painted with your words reached into my heart and mind until I felt the pain, then relief.


    • Beata Stasak profile imageAUTHOR

      Beata Stasak 

      2 years ago from Western Australia

      Thank you my fellow huber for your kind words, happy you liked it:)

    • Seafarer Mama profile image

      Karen A Szklany 

      2 years ago from New England

      Powerful poem about letting go of the past. Very beautiful.

    • Beata Stasak profile imageAUTHOR

      Beata Stasak 

      2 years ago from Western Australia

      Thank you Suhail for your inside and it is all about balance truly, we have to look back to know where we are and then we turn forward to know where we going:) From the past through the present to the future we sail our ship of life, smile...the hardest part is to know when it is the time to turn back and face the future hey:)...B

    • Suhail and my dog profile image

      Suhail Zubaid aka Clark Kent 

      2 years ago from Mississauga, ON

      This is a wonderful poem but which saddened me, because sometime I tend to dwell in the past when I know I am still young enough and should be looking into the future.

    • Beata Stasak profile imageAUTHOR

      Beata Stasak 

      2 years ago from Western Australia

      Smile I am the cousin living abroad too smile and just shared the sound of home that reaches us always doesn't matter how far we live or how far we go Angie:) Thank you my fellow hubbers for your warm responses:)

    • angied83 profile image

      Angie D 

      2 years ago from Cebu, PH

      That was poignant and sad. Wonderfully written. Thank you for sharing, Beata. Made me miss my closest cousins who are now living abroad.

    • btrbell profile image

      Randi Benlulu 

      2 years ago from Mesa, AZ

      How beautifully written. So very sad and, as I've learned and prevalent in too many families. Thank you for sharing.

    • Beata Stasak profile imageAUTHOR

      Beata Stasak 

      2 years ago from Western Australia

      Thank you my fellow rubbers like always for your continuous support although I do not stop by too often but sometimes I just have to say something:)

    • always exploring profile image

      Ruby Jean Richert 

      2 years ago from Southern Illinois

      How very visual using a bridge as a metaphor for past pain. This was a touching piece of poetry. Well expressed!

    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 

      2 years ago from Queensland Australia

      Wow! what a powerfully touching hub Beata. Great work.

    • sallybea profile image

      Sally Gulbrandsen 

      2 years ago from Norfolk

      I wonder how many people have photo books which they cannot open lest the past jumps out to greet them. Many dare not lift up a pen to express their feelings because visiting that past is too difficult for them. I commend you for penning this poem.


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