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

The healer!

Shall I not devote my heart,

To the One who holds the mountains firm,

And a myriad of stars in perfect constellations..

For my heart is made of glass..

With a thousands cracks running through..

-Hira Chaudhry

Elastic hearts

They walk around the streets,

Wearing perfume on their sleeves..

Looking to share everything but trust,

Laughing for hours but crying first..

Holding hands but shadows apart,

With bodies of stone and elastic hearts..

©Hira Chaudhry

© Image courtesy: Fine art America

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

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

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..