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

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Segregated

Born with lips so beautiful, but couldn’t utter a word..

Sitting for hours at the window watching the one-legged bird..

Bullied at the school for being so eccentric..

Abused by father for always being a skeptic..

On a mid summer holiday, escaping from the sun..

In grandma’s little cottage, he found a red violin..

They pushed him to the corners for his words were inapprehensible..

The more his fingers and the strings became inseparable..

A boy once running in circles for hours..

Found peace in his violin and the blooming of flowers..

They couldn’t understand him so he was segregated…

Not leaving him alone, now that his music was appreciated..

Closing all the doors behind, shutting out the universe..

All he wanted was the love he felt in singing a verse…

P.S. To all those young beautiful minds suffering from childhood Psychological disorders and the Autism spectrum.. Let’s try to stretch a hand towards them, before they lose faith in humanity and isolate themselves from a world full of opportunities.. Every child deserves to be loved and appreciated the way he is.

©Hira Chaudhry

Image courtesy: Wandalin Strzałecki – The Violinist

Lost

They place, one wound after another..

Sword after sword..

I bleed, from my chest and my eyes..

But I don’t scream..

Numb, I stare, far into the desert..

Still searching..

For something to live for, to fight back..

Dad

For years I tried,

in the middle of the night..

At a lonely lake…

On a summer morning..

With a cup of tea…

Looking through pictures..

Going through your books..

Smelling your shirt..

Giving away your bike..

but failed to put you

in words..

Emerald

On a snowy winter night, ten chariots were seen…

Who arrived to see the girl born with eyes emerald green..

Gifts were stacked to the ceiling by her eighth birthday..

But she loved most was the pendant her father gave her one day..

He told her there’s nothing as beautiful, the way her eyes shone..

So he gave her this necklace of gold and emerald stone..

She loved to explore places where no one’s ever been..

And got lost in a deep forest where every being was mean…

A prince came to her rescue and fell in love at first sight..

Emerald was his cape and he became her knight…

Soon she learnt to ride horses and then threading and sledding..

Emerald was the dress, she wore to her wedding..

On a snowy winter night, the prince declared war…

Outrageous, he killed everyone and left his princess afar…

She decided to go and see him, to hold and comfort her king..

Disguised as a messenger but wearing their wedding ring..

Suspecting everyone as a spy or enemy, failed to recognize his lover..

He took her life with a sword and emerald was it’s cover ..

A love poisoned by doubts, killed a princess kind and brave..

Emerald was the color of the grass on her grave…

Broken

“I am broken”, she resisted..

“And I’m a mechanic,

Spent my whole life fixing things”, he insisted..

“Did you ever fix a living tragedy”? she asked..

“There’s always a first time”, he reassured!

Unsaid..

In the warmth of an autumn evening,

On a busy street with twinkling lights..

His glance pierced the crowd for her,

And as he met her eyes..

All the noise disappeared..

What remained was a brilliant smile,

And words unsaid…