Featured Poet - Mike Gosalia

Featured Poet - Mike Gosalia

IN THE DEPTHS


In the depths of my schizophrenia,

I used to travel around on highways

without my prescription glasses.

Sometimes, it took twice as long

to find my destination.


Every sound translated into words,

it was so hard to discern fact from fiction.


I found the center of creation

in a lost and lonely prairie town.


There, I talked to horses and oceans,

searching for conversation.


Oh, how I’ve become an island

in medicated life, searching

for such meaning again.


THIS LOVE SONG


What am I doing walking on this old trail,

lungs burning?

What am I doing listening to confessions in AA,

mouth agape?

What am I doing writing this email?

No responders would come in my wake.

And why do I write this love song?

To think that I deserve some kind of embrace.


I wish to philosophize as I roam the open field,

yet glued I am to this day’s news, the TV

blasting accusations at my face.

Would you like to sit for an hour

behind a burning hearth?

I promise nothing but that I will be awake.


What am I doing in this busy reality?

Every attempt at meaning,

at action, a hesitation, set to deliberate.

And what am I doing with Christ’s redemption?

Every glance turned inward—oh my, to give rather than take.

But you …

Nay, you, a long-haired dream turned shadow.

And me, but with lonely appreciation,

all fortification in place.


And what am I doing wandering about these towns?

I must be Odysseus, ten years lost at sea.

Over this dive and that,

in a place called nowhere,

I light your uneven way,

because I love you.


GOING SOLO


I never considered myself a poet,

at best, a songwriter arranging chords and melodies.

I see now, as a schizophrenic, a lot of sadness,

an unwillingness to read books and things,

so depressed and ill at ease.


I go on my way, writing fiction about

mental-health suffering.

But, I become so embarrassed at what I’ve done.

My, how I’d like someone to relate to and love.

Everyone else seems to have all the fun.


Does anyone know what it’s like to be so

solitary in the world?

Though now medicated, I just cannot relate,

for I’m still lost in some other vacuum,

So outside the confines of a run-of-the-mill humanity.


When I die, will I make it into heaven?

I shudder to think I’ll be thrown into hell

for all the discretions I’ve made,

for being so alone—a psychic of the spirit world

on some days, and on others, a defender of the faith.


AN APOLOGY


I’d like to make an apology

to all those I’ve hurt and startled

under the spell of schizophrenia,

knowing how hard it is to mend

such relationships.


People change and friendships end.

It’s something I have to accept.

In a different world, I never would have sent

emails, letters, and postcards,

to people long gone from my life.


It was not me who sent these.

But, I know, I will pay the price

in the next life,

where God has set a workbench for me,

with thoughts and feelings of others to mend.


What more can I do, could I do?

I must look not too deeply inside and carry on.

I accept what I receive in life as deserved.

Needing this and that to fill an emptiness

will only make that abyss grow larger,

and larger, and larger.


I finally realize all I can do is give what I can,

for only in selfless assistance,

will I find the substance to continue,

me, a shattered wayfarer passing through life,

under a deep-blue crescent moon.


ABOUT THE POEMS:  "I was sick this past year. I came to a point where the meds weren't working - I was sleeping all weekend, unable to keep up with the duties of my teaching job (high school English). Instead of changing medication, I stopped taking them, thinking (and hoping) I was cured. A few months later, I began hearing things and believing in things that weren't true. I left everything, my life, my family (though unmarried with no children), to go out into the country to get away from society (and later, to LA). There, I found everything - and nothing. These poems are about that journey I undertook; My, how dangerous it was to be unmedicated on my own - I encountered so much difficulty. Somehow, I made my way back to Kansas City. There, thanks to my family, I went to a hospital to resume treatment. Now, back on medication, I find it cathartic to put this experience into rhyme and meter, hoping that some of these thoughts will help someone else out who is struggling with delusions and how to feel about not fitting in well with society."

ABOUT MIKE

Mike has a degree in English Literature from The University of Chicago and an MFA in creative writing from Pacific Lutheran University. He's proud of this as he values the support he received from his family to do such study. For fun, he likes to play tennis and go on trail walks. He loves to compose music, dreaming that one day he'll be in a band. Originally from Kansas City, he has lived all over, including India and France. He published a book with Zharmae Press entitled "The Drug from Mumbai" in 2016 and a short story with Réapparition Journal some years later. Mike is generally a happy person, but he's definitely gone solo a long time ago, something he hopes one day will change.

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