Cursed..

Cursed is the one,

Who feels and feels deeply..

In a world, made of nothing

but stone.

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Black dog

He shows up in my bed on a night of utter despair…

Making me stay with him for days till I finally begin to repair…

Music is not the healer anymore, food I can hardly chew..

The skies begin to turn dark and everything else is blue..

He feeds on all my attention, making it hard to concentrate..

Concealing it under the mask of humor I tell people; “life’s great”..

They’ll judge me if they see him, consumed by the fear of shame..

A glass breaks thousands of miles away, he tells me “You’re the one to blame..”

He keeps me up at night, barking the loudest he can..

It’s harder to get out of bed and go to work, lookin’ like cavemen..

Pushing me far away from my friends, hitting me with the strongest wave..

My depression isn’t my pet anymore, now I’m his only slave..

If only I can seek help and someone to hold my hand,..

I’ll train my black dog again without needing a magic wand…

P.S. Depression shouldn’t be allowed to grow darker and bigger making easier for it to control us. There’s no shame in asking for help and sharing your true emotions with people close to you. But it’s a shame when we see someone around us suffering and fail to ask “Are you okay, bud?”

-®Hira Chaudhry

©Image courtesy: The scream, Edvard Munch

Paint..

The color of your soul, is precisely what my darkness seeks..

The compelling strokes of your brush, creating wild ocean peaks..

These cravings that evoke me, more than I’d like to confess..

The touch of your fingertips, for my body is your canvas..

Monkey-master!

When I was a kid I saw a man in my street every day, they called him the “monkey master”.

He’ll tell his little monkey friend and he’ll dance and walk and laugh and clap. And all the kids will laugh with him..

As my childhood disappeared, so did the monkey master.. I kept wondering where did he go, what happened to him?

Years later I saw him, in an interview by a local reporter. Showing him gradually dying of poverty, as people don’t watch the monkey shows anymore. Some find it dangerous, some think it’s cruel, some say it’s unacceptable to have animals dancing around the streets. Crowds and gatherings need special permissions due to possibility of terrorist activities, etc.

They asked him, if he can do something else to make money..

He said, ” I learnt some woodwork and became a carpenter but couldn’t make as much of a living, because that’s not where my heart lies.

My monkey was my little baby, my best friend. We ate together, danced together, cried together. Every night I fell asleep thinking of all the new things we’ll learn to do together..

People don’t like to watch shows like that anymore, but that’s what I am good at. That’s all I know.. That’s what I did all my life. I don’t know how to be otherwise, be someone else.”

I realized I feel the same.. people don’t love these days, some find the term eternal love as unacceptable and preposterous. Some think it’s dangerous and even overrated, but that’s all I know. I can’t do otherwise whether someone wants it or not.. All I have is “love” to give and share.. I am like the monkey master, will I die suffering too? Just like him…

Borders

They say they created borders, to divide the land..

To make it secure..

Ironic, they ended up dividing the people..

Making love obscure..

Triangles

He loved triangles, so he decided to gift me one..

Ever since I’m enclosed in it, always on a run..

On one end there’s love, and birds and a pair of rings..

On other end there’s hate, and a pair of broken wings..

I stand on the third end, while it tears my soul apart..

You stand on each end, staring at my broken heart..

©Hira Chaudhry

®Image courtesy: Fine Art America

Silence

In Silence I hear,

flowers blooming

and birds breathe..

How beautiful,

a journey

through the books

I read..