CLARITY ( A Poem on Schizophrenia )

Photo by Daniel Torobekov on

I met a man.
As hollow as a canoe.
As heavy as a grindstone.
As lost as a cloud.
As silent as a mad crowd .

“Hush” he yelled.
To the crazy voices in his head.
“No, you are wrong!” he said.
Later he explained “Her soul is infrared!”
“Run” again he yelled.
“Hide” he whispered this time, and shivered.

I looked at his tear laden face,
The world called him insane with haste.

He looked at me with wide blank eyes,
Held his hand out and showed me hair ties,
A woman’s , i assumed,
His love’s perhaps which must have doomed.

I met this man as dazzling as the sun,
It seemed as if he lived in confusion.
But he was as clear,
As a bright stark ray,
And hence;
He could easily tune ,
Into the frequencies
of every abandoned soul’s ruins.

He gathered the debris.
Listened to all the voices carefully…
Arguing with some,
Reasoning at times understanding with some..
All this does leave him feeling numb.

But he chooses to listen to these,
One day he will get to listen to his own voice,

By Cynthia.

Hii !! To you who just read my poem : If You ( a.k.a an awesome human… I just know it and do not ask how 😊) like what you just read, Please do give this poem a like or a comment .. It really helps me ❤️❤️😊😊


NO ONE TALKS (A Poetry On Suicide)

Photo by Akshar Dave on

No one talks about suicide, no one talks about death,
No one talks about the staunch sadness lingering at the back of our heads.

No one talks about the pain that our tear ducts bear at night
Atleast can we talk about the mere loss of will to just try and fight?

Maybe we could , maybe we should..
Maybe we would if only we could be understood.

For what we are seems exaggerated at times.
Those looks and judgements of others brand our thoughts as crimes.

Maybe we should , maybe we could…
With a bit of kindness, voluntary time and an open mind,
Maybe .. just maybe we could be understood.
Maybe you could help us reveal what we so fiercely hide.
We are not abnormal or unusual or mentally sick.
Neither is it a choice to stay this way, do we consciously pick .

We do not need help “first”, as people say,
It’s the acceptance of just as we are do we so earnestly crave.

Even as we look at the stars waiting to be one with them..
Do we secretly hope that this belittling sadness stays within this realm.
Even people like us, deep down, actually do want to let go,
But with this unknown suffocating heaviness, we cannot go on anymore

By Cynthia

Hi there! If u like my poem ,please do give me a like or a comment .. it really helps me ❤️ 😊

The Lamp (A small hope for an anxiety driven person)

She dragged her feet amongst the crowd spurting out happiness and glitter.


Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS from Pexels

She carried her dark-self down the heavily populated lane seeking for the nearest dark alley to slip into.

But the festival crowd was so overwhelming. They pushed her. The crowd warmth turned into screams of her soul as they touched her. She was trying to avoid contact by covering every inch of her with the thin worn out sweater which already had so many tiny holes. She needed to find the dark alley as soon as possible before her demons completely overtook her.

She did not mind the demons overtaking her; she just did not want that to happen in front of others. She wanted to save others from her.

As she kept her eyes above the crowd, she spotted a lamp. Beside the lamp was the nearest alley. But the lamp was far away. Very far away… Yet she could see it. She kept her eyes fixated as her feet aimlessly moved forward.

At this point, the crowd was suffocating her. Some looked at her with a happy face expecting her to give a smile back. Some pulled her arm forcing it to be put it up in the air as an act of celebration. A celebration that she did not want to be a part of. Yet, she consoled herself with the sight of the lamp which gave her hope. A soft glowing hope that everything will be fine soon if she could only reach that lamp… If only.

She imagined having reached that dark alley where the lamp with its soft light alone covered her. That light could give her the warmth that crowd couldn’t. She imagined being crouched beneath the lamp, with her head resting against the lamp post. She could feel the content within her heart.

She could see her desire to feel complete being fulfilled beneath the lamp.

She right then realized that she had set out on a journey to find a dark alley to rest. But instead, found the idea of the lamp beside the alley so comforting.

She mustered all that she had to make her way through pressing crowd, carrying her demons within her. As for now she somehow felt the need to be with lamp more than ever. For on that night, the light of the lamp had won over the lure of the dark alley.

For on that night, she felt her celebration lay beneath the lamp.