Tag: mental health

Daily Overcomer

I know
I am locked out of heaven
fallen like the angels
My hiding place
a weathered house
by the meadow

Loneliness is the cold moon
in February
Frostbitten, my heart
pounding to keep warm
Anxiety is the sound
trapped deep inside
in shallow breaths

I need
a way out of
this daily attack

The texture of the canvas
pains my over-chewed fingers
The smell of the oil paint
calls me to create
Perhaps
there are wild flowers hidden
in the white and grey meadow
Maybe another pot of hot tea
I will find the anchor of my heartbeat

I know
I can bring the world
to my humble home
through my imagination
and the paintbrushes
Perhaps
I will reinstate heaven
to my heart’s desire

Silhouette

I had no idea till you told me that you had cried for over a year for the filth and shame happened in the old house which was covered in ivies.

I had no idea till you told me that you decided to break the silence because you couldn’t bear to see your son withering away with collapsed veins.

I had no idea till you told me about the sin and crime committed for three generations still robbing you and your children of a chance of peace.

I had no idea…

Now I understand why you appeared to be over sensitive, defensive, jumpy and sad all at the same time.

Now I understand why every time I saw you off, your silhouette in the street light is always frail and heavy laden.

Now I understand.

*This piece is written based on The Living Poetry prompt word – Silhouette

#cassaquote – 51

Leaving means I love you, but I love myself more.

Warfare

The bashing storm in my head

The accusing finger at my temples

The wisdom of knowing their falsehood

Getting out of bed is a struggle

Facing a new day with a smile is a struggle

Fighting for my identity is a real battle

I am not a disappointment

I am not a half way wonder

I am fiercely and freely living

Emotional Reasoning


Everything is spinning
out of control.

I rather be angry.
In that way,
at least,
I can do something
about whatever
that is eating me up.

The alternative
is sadness,
and that renders me
powerless.
It surely
will finish me.

Disturbing Event (A Dark Collection)

This is one of the dark poetry which I wrote as a writing exercise. Dark poetry is not my usual genre. I had fun writing it.

That Summer was so hot.
Grass in the backyard choked
our footsteps.

Lying in bed next to you,
the loud crickets relentlessly
held me off of sleep.

I remembered
the panic in your voice,
‘Did you hear that?
They are coming for us.
Stay still!
They won’t find us.’
You struggled with the locust plague.
We hid underneath the blanket
on a 30 degree night.

Your panic
and the cricket midnight party
went on and on.
My brain shut down
and I slumbered into sleep.

‘Did you smell that?
They are cooking opium again
next door.’
The smell of smoke
stang my eyes to wake.

I sprang up from bed
to rush out to the garden.
The backyard was like
an abandoned camp site
in the daybreak.

You went in the ambulance
laughing in exhilaration,
‘I burned the fuckers.
Don’t you fucking mess with me.
No fucking plague under my watch.
I’m gonna get you,
you piece of shit
reincarnated
opium dealer,
undercover
fucking neighbour.’

That’s how that hot summer ended.

Fragmented Mind

To create
is to be in touch
with authentic self

Dissociation chokes creativity
instead, it births characters
through fantasy for survival

Feelings

Feeling, you fickle little thing!
How did you deceive a heart so strong to break?
How did you hide from the mountain of sadness
to portrait such a bright grin
each and every day?
How much do you give out to the world to see?
How long do you want to stay behind the bars
of your own tangled web?
Feeling, I thought you were my watch tower.
And you truned out to be the red flags
that I couldn’t see.

The Lesser of Two Evils

This is the recent collaboration with Benjamin Grossman which helped me greatly in breaking my writing ‘numbness’. Please check out Ben’s blog if you have not already read his amazing work. 

The glacial battle begins in our heads
Face pressed to the sun-pierced windowpane
January snow in recession, the signs of regression 
Half hidden like an iceberg in the arctic water 
And where once a soft glow illuminated the surface 
Only the placement of desolation remains
Reverberating silent screams 
  
There is no one way of knowing cold
The stages are fluid and transient
Its meaning bitterly ambiguous 
Yet in rare lucid moments, I see husks
An empty bed, scarred skin, chattered teeth
Spirit-numbed mind, missed meals, vacant smiles

There is no one way of knowing cold
Its symptoms appear to have no rhyme or reason
Although they move with wintry doom
From person to person increasing in aggression 
Till you understand the meaning of icy
Which unbeknownst to us creeps in succession 

There is no one way of knowing cold 
Though maybe it’s always the same
Emotional and physical reaction 
A state of feeling dangerously low
Struggling to survive between cold and colder
The very same polar opposites: Arctic and Antarctica

 

Peculiar Me

The garden flat I once lived
was so quiet.
There was this old copper tap dripping
made up the only noise.
I thought of putting some cheese out
to bait some mice to create more sound.
Then I got worried
that I would make them dependent.
And that would be unkind.
Sometimes I held my breath
to listen to the tap.
Just to be sure that
I was not alone.