Tag Archives: depression

The Stranger in the Mirror (Previously, Man in the Mirror)

Posted in Poetry English by
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He’s convinced ‘his coming was an error’ that needs correcting without delay—this is what severe depression sounds like when it talks to itself in the mirror.

A harrowing poem structured as instructions to confront the stranger in your own reflection—a man consumed by self-hatred, failed dreams, and the conviction that his departure would strengthen those he leaves behind.

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Go look at him, look at his pale face in the mirror,

how loathsome it is and yet so strangely dear

Look at him for long, and observe very closely,

and find on it quietly lurking, a dark, crippling fear

The fear of failed dreams and the fear of total loss,

of a life utterly failed, and a death by greed’s spear

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Go talk to him, talk to his dark face in the mirror,

with all of its passive and violent aggression

Talk to him for long, and listen with patience,

you will hear his final words, his ugly confession

From where did he come, and where will he go,

he will speak of darkness, and his cold depression

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You hate him with a vengeance, the man in the mirror,

you look at him with vile pity, you feel utter disgust

You are sickened by what he has now become,

no principles, no morality, and a lack of total trust

You are offended by the choices that he has often made,

there is just reigning chaos, the scorching wind, and dust

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You are so disappointed in him, the man in the mirror,

you do not hope for miracles; there will be no redemption

You witness his devastation, his fate is not to blame,

he is dissolving fast, an intentional self-destruction

He is being blown away by the cruel gusts of time,

spite, self-loathing, dejection, and also some rejection

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Go question him, go ask the man in the mirror,

Does he really have to leave? There is no other way?

And he will tell you no, staying is no longer an option,

the sky is overcast, the clouds all heavy and grey

He has to leave now; his coming was an error,

without any hesitation, without the slightest delay

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Go tell him now, go tell the man in the mirror,

there are those, who need him to stay a little longer

And he will tell you no, he has to say his farewell,

his absence will be hurtful, but it will make them stronger

He has always lived like this, braving all his pains,

and they will live so too, no fear, they won’t conquer

Depression and Me – Till Death do us Part

Posted in Poetry English by
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A marriage vow written in shadows: depression doesn’t ever leave, it keeps on waiting in silence.

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All the faceless monsters lurking under your bed,

and grey smoky ghosts, hiding quietly in the shed

They are still alive, and though very much well fed,

their appetites grow stronger, smelling your dread

Oh, you were so mistaken, and you were so wrong,

they are still here, and they are still very strong

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You thought they had gone and had finally left,

leaving you for once alone, happy, and not bereft

Letting you grow freely to move either East or West,

was something so obvious, but you were so obsessed

Oh you were damn crazy, and stupid to think so,

it is not over yet, the dark misery and the grey woe

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Yes, they look different and may have new faces,

their new but scalding words leave new traces

Their horror remains a fact, and it has a rational basis;

you are an idiot; you were never in their good graces

Oh, you are confused and bewildered by this shit?

No worries, you may run, but you will again be hit

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Yes, you will forever run and hide from them in vain,

but you will meet them always, again and again

There might be a brief respite, and maybe a little gain,

but then will come suffering, and definitely more pain

Oh, you will scream, and torture yourself to death;

you will suffer and burn till your very last breath

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But listen, my friend, and listen to me with care;

they are of your own making, so it’s only fair

They might frighten you, and they might even scare,

but sensibility and you? It has always been very rare

Oh, you may protest, and you may angrily differ;

you are their creator, though this may sound bitter

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The ghosts and monsters will forever stay with you;

the shadows, the dark, and the legion of demons, too

You will keep on feeding and rearing them, it’s true;

but they will keep on torturing and tormenting you

Oh, you may try, or you may find your hands tightly tied,

but good fortune is a horse, you will never ever ride

Questions that I often Ask Myself

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Who am I? What am I? What is my existence? Where am I heading? What will become of me?—Five questions, no answers, only increasingly dark possibilities.

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Who am I,

when I laugh so loud, and also when I cry?

Am I a terrible figment of God’s imagination,

or perhaps, as I often tell myself, a mirthful lie?

Perhaps, I am what was meant to be discarded,

or maybe, to be ignored carelessly, or meant to die

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What am I,

when I beg and beseech, looking up to the sky?

Am I a chaotic and messy pile of junk and trash,

or perhaps a weird collection of impossible thoughts?

Perhaps, I am a useless and wasteful hand of tarot,

a card with no picture or symbol, only stains and dots

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What is my existence,

when I examine my state from some distance?

Is this just a never-ending nightmare, 

or perhaps just sand slipping through my grasp?

Perhaps, there is really nothing that I truly have,

and maybe the rope of hope is just a venomous asp

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Where am I heading,

with a resolve all strong, and my wings all spreading?

Am I diving headfirst into an unfathomable abyss,

or perhaps heading towards doom, with a loud roar?

Perhaps, I am driving down the road to hell,

while the shadow of doubt grows even more

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What will become of me,

will I ever know for sure, and will I ever see?

Will I always be searching for what I dream of,

or is the door just locked forever, and there is no key?

Perhaps, what I touch, will one day become gold,

but by then, all the light will be lost to the dark sea

Murmuring of the Immortal Birds

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He bleeds from a million places but only he sees the blood; he screams with a million faces but only he hears the words—this is what it means to be hunted by the immortal birds.

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Deep within the void I choose to call my heart,

there exists the nucleus of my old and tired soul

It is a desolation, so fierce and so very vast,

a frozen glacier, so very bitter and so very cold

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The harsh chill bites into my creaking bones,

it cuts me from without and also from within

Intense is the pain, so many shades and tones,

twisting my memory and crumpling my skin

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I bleed profusely from a million different places,

yet it is only I who sees the oozing blood

I shout helplessly with a million screaming faces,

no one helps, no one comes to stop the flood

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‘You are cursed forever,’ the words say,

destined to walk alone, the sad path of life

‘To the very end, that is your only way,

a watery grave, a bullet, or maybe a sharp knife’

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‘And why is that so?’ I ask with a weary smile,

while my heart keeps on sinking, down and down

‘Your soul is dark,’ strangely, the answer is so vile,

and your heart is an abandoned ghost town’

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I look within and find all the ghosts smiling,

their faces contorted in agony and in mirth

Their gestures are cruel and all reviling,

demons in pursuit, since my damned birth

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I look around and find myself surrounded,

by the murmurings of all the immortal birds

I look at myself, forever hunted, forever hounded,

their razor-sharp beaks, claws, and harsh words

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The birds are all near, they are almost here,

they are eager to devour my exhausted soul

Their whispers are dreadful, I tremble with fear,

my fate is all done, it has rolled its black scroll

A Dialogue with the Darkness (Previously, the Darkenss Within)

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When the self turns inward, the sharpest blade is awareness.

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I want a sharp knife;

the sharpest of all I have ever seen in this life

A knife with an ivory grip and a gleaming edge;

engraved with obscure ruins, carrying a death pledge

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I want to plunge it into my belly;

slicing it across, all through the quivering jelly

Cutting open myself and savoring the soothing pain;

smelling the oozing blood and enjoying the red rain

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The steaming guts will spill out;

and so will the coldness, without a doubt

I want to confront the coldness under my skin;

I so want to face the raging darkness within

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I want to feel their texture and what makes up my core;

the ice-cold mercury seeping out of each pore

I so want to sense their force, so binding and so freeing;

their powerful darkness vibrating in my being

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I want to question them all, the unanswered queries;

hanging in balance, the forever silent juries

I want to challenge them all, the reservoirs of valor;

forever loud but hollow, the reds masking my pallor

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Why do you reside within me?

Perhaps two despising lovers smiling with glee?

Or are you sent by my respectful adversaries,

not really bothered, and just two emissaries?