The First Poem I Ever Wrote

2014, one of the most memorable years of my life. My world literally turned upside down and there wasn’t a way for me to turn it up again, even if I had had the strength. I suddenly didn’t know how I got where I was, and every single breath I took stabbed my chest. I cried endless tears; I don’t know how I actually never got to go totally insane. And then, I considered that it would be easier if I did go insane. I didn’t but, I grew an alternative feeling. I wanted to die. For real. Life meant nothing to me and I sat outside late after midnight for some nights waiting for something – a snake, thieves – to come and end my life for good. At some point, I even thought of rat poison.

It was around that time – the time I couldn’t really tell anyone how I felt, or say it out loud – when I took a pen and started writing. I had never written anything before. I didn’t want people to understand what was going on, just in case anyone found my note book. So, I drew a picture of my situation and my exact feelings. It’s the first poem I ever wrote; first time I ever wrote a thing. Since then, I found a sanctuary in writing. Below is the poem I wrote:

THE CRY OF A DEATH MANIAC

Eating is great for those who are hungry;

Drinking is pleasant for the thirsty;

Romance is enjoyable between a man and a woman;

Far away in otherworld of thoughts by the magic of songs;

Driven unconsciously by the rhythm of swift dancing.


Life is boring;

The world’s not fair;

Stomachs are never full;

Light is here and in 300 miles away there is darkness;

Animals are more friendly then men.


Death is the end of life;

Death is a peaceful place;

Death is a resting bed;

Death is the uselessness of the body;

Death is the refugee camp for the fatigued.


The future was supposed to be good;

The future is frightening;

The future feels like a terrific hell;

The future is a cave of screams;

The future is the misery of a lonely depressed flightless bird in the sky.


Failed to stay in the Father’s house;

There was pure joy but no pleasure;

Wandering or living under no one’s control;

Caught unexpectedly in a net like a fish;

To end up destroying thyself to please somebody else.


Forced to live on Mars when the heart wanted to be on Earth;

Dissuaded from studying science when the mind was able to;

Coaxed into eating fruits when the stomach was craving for vegetables;

Convinced to wear perfume when deodorant was more effective;

Cajoled to drink coffee when tea was much better.


No freedom in the width of the Earth;

No freedom in the slimness of the throat;

No freedom in the pokey house of the lungs;

No freedom in a small yard of flowers;

No freedom, not even in the space of training grounds.


A gun was the easiest but uneasy to get;

Snakes and poisons can be used but tough to find in cities;

Assassins are there but hard to afford;

Knives are themselves difficult to use;

So surprising what a challenge suicide can be!


The loneliness of the heart is a cold wind in planet’s core;

The wetness of the eyes is an overfilled ocean;

The cry from the mouth is silenced by air;

The wretched arms shake as if attacked by earthquake;

The legs too are numb, inside the cave.


The heart is covered by snow;

The heart is in a foreign country;

The heart is surrounded by strangers;

It is trembling by the chill in the cave;

The heart is the only butterfly at dusk.


They are flowing out of my eyes;

They run down like a leopard after prey;

They rain in a zone of cursed yard;

They are blood flowing out nonstop just like nonstop mensturation;

Tears now overfill the oceans.


It murmurs its burden quietly;

It cannot cry out loud in a fortress of strangers;

It cries with a quiet sound till it can do no more;

It tells its sadness to the air;

The mouth narrates its misfotune to the wildness.


The arms are overworking;

They do not rest;

They ain’t even allowed to do their will;

They are shaking from tiredness;

They are about to break because of the load.


They walk without halting;

They run nonstop;

They jump without ceasing;

They dance without desisting for break;

Legs are slaves for people’s pleasure.


In the Father’s house, unforgettable moments;

The Father shows his love for me;

He wipes away my tears;

He stands by me all the time;

He doesn’t sleep to keep me secured.


I am sheltered under his peaceful wings;

I am surrounded by his love, mercy and grace;

I am guided by his shining light;

I am amazed by the beauty of his mysterious soul;

I am proud to be his servant.

THE END

The end of the poem portrays a happy ending. I wrote it like that not because the suffering was over, but because then, a little part of me believed in happy endings. More importantly however; the last 2 verses are the reflections of my life before my world turned upside down. I wished to have that life again.




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