Poetry Therapy with Ritha
By Bahareh Amidi, PhD
When we arrived at the room, there were two nurses standing on either side of Ritha. She was being poked for blood, and she was squeamish and unhappy. She recognized the kind doctor who accompanied me to her room and looked me over. I was introduced briefly, but the focus was on the blood or lack of blood.
“They have been poking me so many times, and nothing comes,” Ritha said.
I stood by the curtain for a while, and then I heard her small cries. I walked next to her bed and held her hand. I could not do anything but be present with her. I was becoming somewhat alarmed of the pokes and the cries of pain, so I stepped aside by the curtain, then the doctor asked me to step out and I did.
“Here, wash your hands and wear gloves. You need to be careful when there is blood,” she said.
The blood was extracted finally. The nurses left, and we sat close to the bed: the doctor on one side, I on the other. The doctor explained to Ritha a bit about what I do, how I help people heal though poetry. Very briefly, they talked about what Ritha had eaten (or not eaten, the lunch or dinner tray untouched nearby). Ritha said she did not like the food. The doctor talked about how Ritha would need her energy to go home, and that is when I saw a light. Ritha’s face opened.
“When am I going home?” she asked.
I felt this was a cue. I took out three journals from my bag and paper and a packet of poetry. I showed Ritha the journals and asked if she would choose one. I held two up, then another. She chose one of the books. I asked her if she would tell me a little bit about how it felt to go home. I wrote while she spoke.
Now I am going home….
The hospital arranged it for me
They treated me
and they have been paying for my son’s school fees
And they gave me all I needed
I love them so much. They gave me
money to go home to my country to start my business
They will not let me down
And I will never forget them
I had a restaurant and I sold it
I agreed to work for a woman in Dubai
in her restaurant
When I reached there
I asked to go to the restaurant
The woman told me there was no restaurant
She took all my documents from me
and told me:
You are going to do as a sex worker
I was confused because in my life I have never done that sort of thing
She took me into her house
and she told me she wanted seven thousand dollars
She used to bring for me men
She brought for me three men in one day
and they fucked me and they gave me money
Each one 100 Dirhams and the next time
I started bleeding
When she brought the men I said those men cannot fuck I am bleeding
She told me even if you are bleeding
They have to fuck you because I want my money
I refused and she left me for one month in the house
While I was bleeding
She didn’t give me food
She didn’t give me drink
When she saw that I was going to die
sleeping on the floor without a mattress, bleeding
She called the taxi
She took me to Dubai
and she threw me there behind Dubai hospital
The ambulance came and picked me up
The nurse asked the ambulance man
Where did you get this lady?
The ambulance driver told the nurse
I picked her up outside
The nurse asked me who has brought you here?
I told them about the woman
They started to scan me
They removed blood from me
And they asked me how long I have been in Abu Dhabi
I told them one month because by that time it was one month
They treated me for two days
Then the police came and removed me from the hospital
and took me to Dubai jail
I stayed there for one day because I was bleeding too much
and then the Abu Dhabi police came
and took me to the Department of the Police
I slept there for four days and I was still bleeding too much
They took me to the court
I told them all that happened
They sent me to the shelter
But the first shelter was not good
I found one lady, one Pakistan lady
She asked me what happened
She took care of me
She asked me if I wanted to eat or drink
She gave me a bed to rest in
I saw the others
They told me they would do everything they can for me
They accompanied me to the court until the case was over
Then they started to treat me
They took me to many hospitals
They took me to expensive hospitals
I was bleeding all that month
I came back
I slept when it was night
The bleeding never stopped
I called the supervisors
Then a doctor came and I fainted
She did her best and she cleaned me
She did not fear the blood
She took me to Sheikh Khalifa Hospital
They treated me very well there
I love that hospital
I was a victim in their country but they showed me love
I will never forget that hospital Sheikh Khalifa Hospital
Now I am good
As she said the sentences I repeated them and wrote word for word. (It has been edited here for clarity.) At the end, a weight was lifted from her, and there was a great sense of relief in the room.
"Ritha, would you like me to read this story to you?" I asked.
"No!" she said. "I know that story well. You take that story. That is for you."
"Can I share it with others?"
"Please do," she said. "I want to help others with that story."
I left Ritha the journal and told her it was there for her if she felt like writing. She smiled. I also left with her a poem called “The Angel Who Lost His Wings,” but I did not read it to her. Enough had been said by then and I could tell Ritha was tired.
I said goodbye and wished her a good trip home. It was hard to leave; there was so much shared. Before I left, I mentioned my work as a poetry therapist at a safe house. I also mentioned that I too have been abused when I was younger, and I understood the feelings. It felt right to share this with her.
I was allotted only one visit with Ritha, but I wanted to see her again. Would this be the right thing? Was it professional? When I talked to a friend who was very involved in social work, she told me I should go.I had just bought two beautiful scarves for myself: one green and one pink. I was wearing the green one, and I decided to give the pink one to Ritha with a small booklet of poems I had put together for my workshops. After I called and got permission from the hospital, I gathered it all up and headed out.
Ritha seemed a bit brighter, and she was happy to be going home soon. I sat with her for a while and gave her the beautiful pink scarf. She put it on with a smile and said she would wear it on her trip home. I took out the medicine—the packet of poems I had brought. There was one poem in particular I wanted to work from called “Windows.”
"Do you feel like writing today?" I asked Ritha.
"Yes," she said.
"Why don't I read a poem first and then we will write?" I asked.
I turned to the poem, and she gently took the little booklet of poetry from me and started reading the poem. She read each word, each sentence in the most eloquent way, pausing to look at me throughout.
WINDOWS
All I want is a window
A window of my very own
All I want is a window
A window to look out into the world
A window to look deeply into the soul
All I want is a window
A window to sit in front of and dream
A window to sit in front of and create
A window to sit in front of and write
All I want is a window
A window open and wide to possibilities
A window open and wide to hopes
A window open wide to prospects
A window open wide to opportunities
All I want is a window
A window framed by peace
A window fabricated by joy
A window bordered by freedom
A window surrounded by grace
A window constructed by love
All I want is a window
A window that will allow me to see many visions
A window that will allow me to hear many voices
A window that will allow me to taste many delicacies
A window that will allow me to feel many touches
A window that will allow me to smell many aromas
A window that will allow me to imagine a new way of being in a new world
All I want is a window
A window through which I can leap
A window through which I can fly
A window through which I can soar
All I want is a window….
-Trina-Leshay Johnson
When she finished she looked up, and then she repeated a few of the lines.
Ritha was a natural at poetry therapy. This is what we usually do at the end of a poem, mirror back lines. I asked if she wanted to write from the prompt. She agreed, and I wrote as she spoke.
All I want is a window…
A window to take care of my family
A window to know God
A window to gain favor in my business
A window to be faithful to my son
A window to be strong in everything I do
A window to allow me to see my future
I asked her if she wanted me to read it back to her, and she said yes. I noticed there was a nurse in the room, and as I finished reading the poem, I explained to the nurse that this was a poem Ritha wrote. When I finished, both Ritha and the nurse smiled. I gave Ritha and the nurses some Persian sweets: pistachio baklava flavored with rose water, some saffron, and cardamom. She had her booklet from the day before, and we looked through it. She stopped at a poem, and I began to read it for her.
Silent Prayer
I walk toward you to find myself
I find the path to the river
I want to bow down and
feel my forehead in prayer
I want to watch myself
in the reflection of the lake
I pause
I listen
I breathe
I hear the owl call my name
I feel the sun praise my name
Soul Spring
Child of God
I bow as I watch my shadow fall to the ground
There I find myself
and
I write in silence
-Bahareh
"That is actually one of mine," I said.
She looked at me kindly, "I know," she said.
I was touched. "Do you want to write a poem together?" I asked.
Here is the poem Ritha and I wrote together:
We sit together in Peace and Silence as we write
We were talking of the problems we face in this world
We find this world is not easy
I find I am sitting in front of a mirror
One day I kept quiet
I wanted to get up on the balcony and fall down
because of the problems I got
I listened to my heart
My heart told me
Why do you do that
God still loves you
And your family still loves you
I thought it was an Angel
who is trying to defend me
I sat down and I started to cry
I asked my heart again
Why is it always me?
My heart told me it’s not only you
But you have to believe in God
because many people want what you have received
but they cannot have it and they need help but no one can help them
So don’t worry
Just pray for God
God will save
YOU
Ritha then had to get some x-rays done. I went down with her and waited. She told me to come in, and I talked to her during the x-ray. On our way back to the room, we passed the flower shop, and she said she wanted some.
I said, “A flower? Sure.”
“No this one,” she said. “The biggest one here. I want to take it with me in my suitcase, or I will carry it.”
I thought she was kidding, but she was not. We settled on an arrangement of chocolates.
“Hopefully, your son will enjoy it as well,” I said.
“No, I will keep it like this as decoration and a memory,” she said.
We went to her room and talked for a while. I thanked her for our time together and reminded her of the simplicity of writing her feelings.
"Don't worry about me," she said. "I will go home, and the doctors will help me with their traditional medicine. I will send a picture to the hospital when I get nice and fat. I was so beautiful when I got here. I was 85 kilos!" (When I met her, she was skin and bones.) "Soon, I will be like that again," she said. I said goodbye, and one of her friends called her. I was happy she was on the phone as I left so she wouldn't be alone.
I left with a heart full of love, hope, sorrow, but mostly full of beauty. I was grateful to see the effect of the medicine of words.
A Poem for Ritha
Ritha you came into my life to tell me something
I came into your life to hear something
You told me of the abuse and the blood
I heard the cries and saw the tears
You trusted my web of love
You gave to me without holding back
You told me of the sex work you did not choose
You told me of the dignity you had lost
You told me of the woman who brought you men
As you said “three men in one day to fuck me”
“I was bleeding” you said
The woman said, “I do not care”
I held your blood
I held your voice
I released your being
You gave me flight with your trust
I the healer
You the healer
We holding hands
No rubber gloves
Just trust and love
With this recognition of the truth of human trafficking
I see the world in a different light
Thank you for the voice
Thank you for the vision
Thank you for the trust
Mutual
Love
Truly,
Bahareh
Dr. Bahareh Amidi is a certified poetry therapist who believes healing happens through words and voice. She has a Masters in Family, Marriage and Child Counseling Psychology and has received her PhD in Educational Psychology from Catholic University. She has studied poetry therapy at The Institute for Poetic Medicine in California and is currently living and working in Abu Dhabi, UAE. She has spoken on the topic of Poetry Therapy at TEDx in Abu Dhabi.
By Bahareh Amidi, PhD
When we arrived at the room, there were two nurses standing on either side of Ritha. She was being poked for blood, and she was squeamish and unhappy. She recognized the kind doctor who accompanied me to her room and looked me over. I was introduced briefly, but the focus was on the blood or lack of blood.
“They have been poking me so many times, and nothing comes,” Ritha said.
I stood by the curtain for a while, and then I heard her small cries. I walked next to her bed and held her hand. I could not do anything but be present with her. I was becoming somewhat alarmed of the pokes and the cries of pain, so I stepped aside by the curtain, then the doctor asked me to step out and I did.
“Here, wash your hands and wear gloves. You need to be careful when there is blood,” she said.
The blood was extracted finally. The nurses left, and we sat close to the bed: the doctor on one side, I on the other. The doctor explained to Ritha a bit about what I do, how I help people heal though poetry. Very briefly, they talked about what Ritha had eaten (or not eaten, the lunch or dinner tray untouched nearby). Ritha said she did not like the food. The doctor talked about how Ritha would need her energy to go home, and that is when I saw a light. Ritha’s face opened.
“When am I going home?” she asked.
I felt this was a cue. I took out three journals from my bag and paper and a packet of poetry. I showed Ritha the journals and asked if she would choose one. I held two up, then another. She chose one of the books. I asked her if she would tell me a little bit about how it felt to go home. I wrote while she spoke.
Now I am going home….
The hospital arranged it for me
They treated me
and they have been paying for my son’s school fees
And they gave me all I needed
I love them so much. They gave me
money to go home to my country to start my business
They will not let me down
And I will never forget them
I had a restaurant and I sold it
I agreed to work for a woman in Dubai
in her restaurant
When I reached there
I asked to go to the restaurant
The woman told me there was no restaurant
She took all my documents from me
and told me:
You are going to do as a sex worker
I was confused because in my life I have never done that sort of thing
She took me into her house
and she told me she wanted seven thousand dollars
She used to bring for me men
She brought for me three men in one day
and they fucked me and they gave me money
Each one 100 Dirhams and the next time
I started bleeding
When she brought the men I said those men cannot fuck I am bleeding
She told me even if you are bleeding
They have to fuck you because I want my money
I refused and she left me for one month in the house
While I was bleeding
She didn’t give me food
She didn’t give me drink
When she saw that I was going to die
sleeping on the floor without a mattress, bleeding
She called the taxi
She took me to Dubai
and she threw me there behind Dubai hospital
The ambulance came and picked me up
The nurse asked the ambulance man
Where did you get this lady?
The ambulance driver told the nurse
I picked her up outside
The nurse asked me who has brought you here?
I told them about the woman
They started to scan me
They removed blood from me
And they asked me how long I have been in Abu Dhabi
I told them one month because by that time it was one month
They treated me for two days
Then the police came and removed me from the hospital
and took me to Dubai jail
I stayed there for one day because I was bleeding too much
and then the Abu Dhabi police came
and took me to the Department of the Police
I slept there for four days and I was still bleeding too much
They took me to the court
I told them all that happened
They sent me to the shelter
But the first shelter was not good
I found one lady, one Pakistan lady
She asked me what happened
She took care of me
She asked me if I wanted to eat or drink
She gave me a bed to rest in
I saw the others
They told me they would do everything they can for me
They accompanied me to the court until the case was over
Then they started to treat me
They took me to many hospitals
They took me to expensive hospitals
I was bleeding all that month
I came back
I slept when it was night
The bleeding never stopped
I called the supervisors
Then a doctor came and I fainted
She did her best and she cleaned me
She did not fear the blood
She took me to Sheikh Khalifa Hospital
They treated me very well there
I love that hospital
I was a victim in their country but they showed me love
I will never forget that hospital Sheikh Khalifa Hospital
Now I am good
As she said the sentences I repeated them and wrote word for word. (It has been edited here for clarity.) At the end, a weight was lifted from her, and there was a great sense of relief in the room.
"Ritha, would you like me to read this story to you?" I asked.
"No!" she said. "I know that story well. You take that story. That is for you."
"Can I share it with others?"
"Please do," she said. "I want to help others with that story."
I left Ritha the journal and told her it was there for her if she felt like writing. She smiled. I also left with her a poem called “The Angel Who Lost His Wings,” but I did not read it to her. Enough had been said by then and I could tell Ritha was tired.
I said goodbye and wished her a good trip home. It was hard to leave; there was so much shared. Before I left, I mentioned my work as a poetry therapist at a safe house. I also mentioned that I too have been abused when I was younger, and I understood the feelings. It felt right to share this with her.
I was allotted only one visit with Ritha, but I wanted to see her again. Would this be the right thing? Was it professional? When I talked to a friend who was very involved in social work, she told me I should go.I had just bought two beautiful scarves for myself: one green and one pink. I was wearing the green one, and I decided to give the pink one to Ritha with a small booklet of poems I had put together for my workshops. After I called and got permission from the hospital, I gathered it all up and headed out.
Ritha seemed a bit brighter, and she was happy to be going home soon. I sat with her for a while and gave her the beautiful pink scarf. She put it on with a smile and said she would wear it on her trip home. I took out the medicine—the packet of poems I had brought. There was one poem in particular I wanted to work from called “Windows.”
"Do you feel like writing today?" I asked Ritha.
"Yes," she said.
"Why don't I read a poem first and then we will write?" I asked.
I turned to the poem, and she gently took the little booklet of poetry from me and started reading the poem. She read each word, each sentence in the most eloquent way, pausing to look at me throughout.
WINDOWS
All I want is a window
A window of my very own
All I want is a window
A window to look out into the world
A window to look deeply into the soul
All I want is a window
A window to sit in front of and dream
A window to sit in front of and create
A window to sit in front of and write
All I want is a window
A window open and wide to possibilities
A window open and wide to hopes
A window open wide to prospects
A window open wide to opportunities
All I want is a window
A window framed by peace
A window fabricated by joy
A window bordered by freedom
A window surrounded by grace
A window constructed by love
All I want is a window
A window that will allow me to see many visions
A window that will allow me to hear many voices
A window that will allow me to taste many delicacies
A window that will allow me to feel many touches
A window that will allow me to smell many aromas
A window that will allow me to imagine a new way of being in a new world
All I want is a window
A window through which I can leap
A window through which I can fly
A window through which I can soar
All I want is a window….
-Trina-Leshay Johnson
When she finished she looked up, and then she repeated a few of the lines.
Ritha was a natural at poetry therapy. This is what we usually do at the end of a poem, mirror back lines. I asked if she wanted to write from the prompt. She agreed, and I wrote as she spoke.
All I want is a window…
A window to take care of my family
A window to know God
A window to gain favor in my business
A window to be faithful to my son
A window to be strong in everything I do
A window to allow me to see my future
I asked her if she wanted me to read it back to her, and she said yes. I noticed there was a nurse in the room, and as I finished reading the poem, I explained to the nurse that this was a poem Ritha wrote. When I finished, both Ritha and the nurse smiled. I gave Ritha and the nurses some Persian sweets: pistachio baklava flavored with rose water, some saffron, and cardamom. She had her booklet from the day before, and we looked through it. She stopped at a poem, and I began to read it for her.
Silent Prayer
I walk toward you to find myself
I find the path to the river
I want to bow down and
feel my forehead in prayer
I want to watch myself
in the reflection of the lake
I pause
I listen
I breathe
I hear the owl call my name
I feel the sun praise my name
Soul Spring
Child of God
I bow as I watch my shadow fall to the ground
There I find myself
and
I write in silence
-Bahareh
"That is actually one of mine," I said.
She looked at me kindly, "I know," she said.
I was touched. "Do you want to write a poem together?" I asked.
Here is the poem Ritha and I wrote together:
We sit together in Peace and Silence as we write
We were talking of the problems we face in this world
We find this world is not easy
I find I am sitting in front of a mirror
One day I kept quiet
I wanted to get up on the balcony and fall down
because of the problems I got
I listened to my heart
My heart told me
Why do you do that
God still loves you
And your family still loves you
I thought it was an Angel
who is trying to defend me
I sat down and I started to cry
I asked my heart again
Why is it always me?
My heart told me it’s not only you
But you have to believe in God
because many people want what you have received
but they cannot have it and they need help but no one can help them
So don’t worry
Just pray for God
God will save
YOU
Ritha then had to get some x-rays done. I went down with her and waited. She told me to come in, and I talked to her during the x-ray. On our way back to the room, we passed the flower shop, and she said she wanted some.
I said, “A flower? Sure.”
“No this one,” she said. “The biggest one here. I want to take it with me in my suitcase, or I will carry it.”
I thought she was kidding, but she was not. We settled on an arrangement of chocolates.
“Hopefully, your son will enjoy it as well,” I said.
“No, I will keep it like this as decoration and a memory,” she said.
We went to her room and talked for a while. I thanked her for our time together and reminded her of the simplicity of writing her feelings.
"Don't worry about me," she said. "I will go home, and the doctors will help me with their traditional medicine. I will send a picture to the hospital when I get nice and fat. I was so beautiful when I got here. I was 85 kilos!" (When I met her, she was skin and bones.) "Soon, I will be like that again," she said. I said goodbye, and one of her friends called her. I was happy she was on the phone as I left so she wouldn't be alone.
I left with a heart full of love, hope, sorrow, but mostly full of beauty. I was grateful to see the effect of the medicine of words.
A Poem for Ritha
Ritha you came into my life to tell me something
I came into your life to hear something
You told me of the abuse and the blood
I heard the cries and saw the tears
You trusted my web of love
You gave to me without holding back
You told me of the sex work you did not choose
You told me of the dignity you had lost
You told me of the woman who brought you men
As you said “three men in one day to fuck me”
“I was bleeding” you said
The woman said, “I do not care”
I held your blood
I held your voice
I released your being
You gave me flight with your trust
I the healer
You the healer
We holding hands
No rubber gloves
Just trust and love
With this recognition of the truth of human trafficking
I see the world in a different light
Thank you for the voice
Thank you for the vision
Thank you for the trust
Mutual
Love
Truly,
Bahareh
Dr. Bahareh Amidi is a certified poetry therapist who believes healing happens through words and voice. She has a Masters in Family, Marriage and Child Counseling Psychology and has received her PhD in Educational Psychology from Catholic University. She has studied poetry therapy at The Institute for Poetic Medicine in California and is currently living and working in Abu Dhabi, UAE. She has spoken on the topic of Poetry Therapy at TEDx in Abu Dhabi.