Don’t wanna Feel…

No I don’t wanna feel this again. Maybe I want end the cause of this feel. Or maybe end the root cause, me.

No I don’t wanna play again, with those numbers outside playing in merry, when I am send to them only to get myself bullied.

No I don’t wanna be the perfect daughter to get pretended of my flaws so evil that it could stab someone to dateless death.

No I don’t wanna laugh out of mini happiness but cry snatching my hair to leave me bald of the everlasting sadness.

No I don’t wanna smile just to pretend that inside I am okay, while these demons in me unlocked themselves of a cage.

No I don’t wanna be a tree, which was born with a purpose when I am really a flower who bloomed, closed and plucked.

No I don’t wanna be a soul to heavy even the air of the earth, but just a dry leaf getting mixed in the soil lost of name.

No I don’t wanna be a happy tear getting shed because it’s rare, but a sad tear from an eye because I will be what I am.

No I don’t wanna be known like the endless roads but the painted lines which fade with time.

No I don’t wanna have relations only to get maintained whole life but just an individual to god after life to be god’s individual.

No I don’t wanna have a name, but just a face which will decay like hundreds others of its phase.

No I don’t wanna have hands to lift, eyes to embrace, ears to understand, mouth to speak and a heart to feel. But just a body to lie dead now and get cremated in the holy fire which shys away of its sins and hatred lighting me up to rise above the skies and dwell in the hell getting burnt again.


A visit that pushed me to a deeper level.

I visited a psychaictrict hospital a few months before to do a case study upon a minor affected paitent. Later did I realise the agony existing in that place, that I no more wanted to just study but understand people and talk to them. I was assigned a paitent with Bipolar disorder currently suffering with Mania. For those who don’t know that bipolar disorder is characterized by alternating periods of depression with mania usually with intervals of normal mood. I was taken to the end ward of the second building where there was a large room with around 20 stretchers parallel to each other yet having spaces between them. There were mostly woman and old men in the room. Most of them were Extreamly happy and looked as if they were playing but very few others were sitting, staring and doing nothing.
My paitent was on the first bed and was beautiful. For once I didn’t realise she was a paitent, I thought she was a visitor. But then the doctor told me few details on her and I sat beside her. She was smiling her best smile and eating wada pav like a kid. Then in no time, she didn’t finish the wada pav and ran to the room corner to throw the tissues and the leftover. She came back and asked my Why Was I sitting on her bed. I apologized to her and introduced myself. I asked her that does she like this place and she said no. She came here a few days ago with her husband who brings her food and drinks. She told me more about her husband and how much they loved each other excitedly. She asked me why had I come in instead of her husband. I politely denied and told her that I just came by to visit her. She kept telling me more about herself and I didn’t know I was so comfortable for people. I had a notebook and a pen clutched in my hand where I was noting down her behavioral patterns which I didn’t feel like because I felt normal with her. She was also a staunch believer of god and I asked her to write the name of the god she believed in. She took my copy and started writing the name -“ram” one by one pronouncing each word in slow pace and clapping after a few breaks. Until half the page was full she lost interest and gave it back to me. I thanked her. She told me that she wrote this everyday before going to bed at home so she could dream of Lord Ram coming and meeting her. I was melted again. The doctor asked me out on the door and made me meet her husband who looked twice her age. I greeted him and told him that he had a beautiful wife and she kept flaunting about you since the last one hour we met. I told him my reason of the visit although he knew but for once personally to make him comfortable more because I was smaller than him. He told me with a smile that I could ask him anything except his name and location which he wanted to keep confidential. I agreed. He told me that they had “accidently” married and he was unaware that she was mentally unstable during the marriage. He hadn’t known of her disorder as she was in a normal period. Later when she got pregnant with her daughter and during the delivery the doctors informed him that his wife had been suffering from depression since a very long time and he was devastated. After she gave birth to her daughter the husband went through her bag and stuff and found a doctors prescription dated 1998 with prescribed medicines of mania. He went to his in-laws and asked them about it and they confessed that she had bipolar since she was in 12th standerd. And suffered this because his brother had been killed. When asked the reason how had he been killed they said that he aspired to study in a college after twelfth rather than working and supporting his family and became very rebellious. He came back to his wife and fell in love with her more than he already was and took his family of three to a separate home because her wife often complained of her mother in law of beating and shouting at her. They lived happily and there are times every two years or one that she has to be admitted to the hospital for her well being. He also said that he was okay to take her out but she was a face conscious person who asked random strangers of how she looked and if anyone mocked at her she would go and wash her face and ask the next stranger again if she looked beautiful. That was all. I noted down everything and I had ample of info to include in my case study file.
This world is beautiful place. And there are two weapons of destruction or we can say slow poison? Words and physical weapons. Where words can kill the person everyday inside weapons can kill number of people at a time. Depends. But words are boon and a bane. Changes people from day to becoming night. You haven’t got the slightest idea sometimes that how can you influence, impact and affect a person by your simple words and actions. Take care of the people around you. Understand them a thousand million times. Love them so you can not only be satisfied but happy for yourself. Some may even think that psychology is a senseless subject but now when such subjects are introduced people seek for themselves. Mental illness can be fatal and heartbreaking. Everyone is not equal and can never be thus who cannot deal with such problems end up becoming their problems. It’s okay. It’s is alright. Hopes should not be fake but hope can be another strategy to deal with mental problems. Try not to make a person weak when he/she already is. Either stay away or stay with for affection.
My paitent was a person who could have a better life than she has now but just the small support after her illness from her husband brings her back to a normal environment. There is so much to say and feel but you can make out more than me. I would leave this to you:)

Release your insides.

I have been writing a lot of poems lately and they keep coming. I don’t feel I create them but just give them words. My notes is full of them and haven’t got any idea of which to post. Because it mainly deals with sorrow, pain and unhappiness. So I want to talk about it.

There is a lot of sorrow in one’s heart, so much that they cannot put in words. The world needs time to understand pain of the other person. But then how much pain is to be suffered? Maybe we keep suffering from minute things in our life which we want to resist. But resistance simply turns the pain to come back to us in a different form. We need to accept what happens without blaming of why does it happen to me. Because it happens to millions others, who can’t speak and die while already dead inside when alive. What we need is to talk and empathise. Sympathy is selfishness and favor. It’s is more important to step on others shoes and rather then just consoling and giving hopes feel what they feel.

We don’t need to stop our tears and let suppress things inside until we bottle up, again only giving ourselves more pain. Talking is the best therapy. For others there may be other. For me it’s writing. Find your strategy to release pain in a positive way. Or in a way where millions others join you to release their pain virtually. Here on WordPress I follow many beautiful and unique writers and I want to thank them all because somewhere their write-ups made me feel light headed when I read them. Their writings made me up inside, where I was crumbling they build me up. So I wanted to thank even you who is reading this for letting me visit your humble blog so I could get another reason to let my heart smile invisibly.

There are even people who click amazing pictures just to tell a story which they wouldn’t write and make us feel what they felt right at that moment. This is yet another strategy.

So keep writing and spreading smiles. No matter how heavy your words are or not the thing you want to express should be reached to your WordPress family so they can feel you and let you flow again without barriers.

Here is a poem for my pain I felt a long time ago:

I want to be an eye letting out a waterfall of distress until it dries of water.

I want to be the pre-stabbed heart to die of the heaviness of its leakage.

I want to be the shut mouth of its words to speak only with writings.

So, Oh let me be a poet of sadness so I could create a society of people like me of my words.

Having back!

The world granted me this smile of yours,
Where it was every heartbreaking cure.

Our distance maybe like the stars hiding behind the trees seen through a running car,
But every story exchanged between us in the loner times is healing of our million scars.

Feel like wrapping you around in a duvet,
Maybe it’s not the time to cease your success yet.

Our friendship is a ship sailing far away on seas,
Sending messages through the fishes with a fee.

Take care of your lovely soul,
So no one tinches it with their dirty coal.

When the gone feather returns.

Sometimes the wind brings back smell of humbled faraway lands,

Where the footsteps of the unknown and the unmended stand.

But the nib of my pen is still ready to spill some ink in the form of words,

To brighten up a smile who lie in my life blurred.

Those walk back with same drunken memories that will vanish with few sips of wine,

Leaving me Sottish again but still refined.


Sometimes we don’t really need voices to console our hearts, all we need is voiceless gifts of nature to slide ourselves into a mood of happiness unbound out of nowhere and calmness out of no meditation.