BEING A SUPPORT

By Heera Nawaz

The helpful souls, and those sensitive Good Samaritans out there, should try to discern the possible apprehensions, worries and innate fears.

Why the touch-me-not stand-alone introvert is always aloof,

a person who is quite mawkish, overthinking, overly sensitive, and always breaking into tears.

So, if preventive, hugely beneficial measures are subsequently taken,

precious lives will be saved, and not mercilessly forsaken.

Indeed, just when the squiggly caterpillar thought it would morbidly die ...

Voila! Out burst a vibrant, beautiful butterfly!

ABOUT HEERA: Heera is a teacher, writer and poet from Bengaluru, India. She has had a number of poems published.

INVASION

By Shahida Seedat

You are amidst the air that I breathe, with me, with every stride and not here 

to forsake.

You swiftly move with speed like the lightening carrying ghostly whispers 

over every mountain and lake.

Your invasion within me starts with darkness feeling apprehended and 

devouring pains of sadness.

Strangers fail to be compassionate as their ignorance and stigma blinds 

them and assume it’s just madness.

You have no colour; no aroma and you are invisible to the naked eye.

You have no body not even a shadow you never answer or wipe away my 

tears when I cry.

There is no preference to faith age status or creed.

You visit whom you choose to without remorse hesitation or heed.

You have no written invitation yet you always make your presence known at 

any time.

You feed of my insecurities the more I give the less I own which is mine.

You plant one single seed that grows and releases multitudes of emotions 

negativity, self-harm, anxiety and fear.

Diminished is my profound joy of contentment, confidence and happiness 

once again now that you are here.

The dress and hair that shrouded me with a sense of beauty elegance and 

pride.

Today the same dress and hair shrouds me with disgust, revulsion, ugliness 

and I cannot hide.

It’s a struggle to envisage a world that attracts so much beauty gratitude 

positivity and love.

How can I? When it’s your dismal world that I view in my mind through your 

consumption with dismay beyond and above.

My loved ones whom I've left far behind embrace me with mercy and 

understanding.

Their voices I can hear but disappear as rapidly as they are commanding.

You invade my thoughts behaviour and life momentarily with a voice that 

doesn’t fade.

A constant reminder that even though you are not visible I am still me just a 

helpless soul this is who you have made.

Your perseverance is mesmerising fixating immensely, powerful and strong.

In a room full of light and hope I am still alone; I don't have a choice with you 

is where I belong.

When will I be free and expel from this mortal shell?

It’s just another episode as usual only time will tell.

DEPRESSION

By Jose Manoj Mathews T

Every day I swallow my depression pills

So that I may be healthy

Mentally and physically.

It is a magnanimous effort

In order to save my parents

From fear and mental pain.

Whenever I searched for

Some other type of treatment

I fell down into the deep ditch of

Mental agony and I was forced to face

The calamities of depression.

One of my friends told me,

He could cure me using

Special needles. But he couldn’t.

First time in my life, I became violent!

Fifteen days I was in hospital.

It was eight years ago.

Then I decided, I will not stop

English medicine for depression

Ever in my life. 

ABOUT JOSE: "I am from Kerala, India. I knew I was mentally ill, even from my boyhood. When I was seventeen, I began reading books written by psychologists and understood I had depression. My doctor prescribed some tablets. They were good tablets and I felt better. I would then stop, and on every occasion my mental health would collapse. So now I never stop taking my medication."

BUTTERFLY

By Tim Boardman

A perfectly 

preserved 

Red admiral 

and

It’s carcass 

remained intact 

as it

drifted down

from the rafters 

of the garage 

when moving 

A step ladder 

that hasn’t 

been used

In years 

Cocooned 

Bodies wrapped

In duvets

their antenna

Legs and arms

Poking out

I AM THINKING OF WRITING A POEM

By Farblos Artem

Under the ablazed ashes of my burnt hope

Over the lifeless corpse of my freshly died dream

Above the ninth sky's dark blue pasture of gazing angels

In the midst of paradoxical existence of reality amidst final death and rebirth

Like a newly built fine road in the middle of meaningless miles of a barren desert

I am thinking of writing a poem

Once a long time ago, I was dumbfounded by complexity of my intermingled thoughts

Once a long time ago, I lost the way back home

Once I held on to my mother's arm until I shouted and screamed

For the longing of the peace of ignorance gone far away 

Lost in the jungle of philosophical contemplation 

I am here lost, thinking 

I am thinking of writing a poem

For once my life brightened for once it darkened

Who am I ?

When will I meet The God ?

I have millions of questions stored in my tiny pink flesh enclosing my infinite mind

Who ? Where ? From when ? Till when ? And the greatest WHY ?

Until then I am thinking

I am thinking of writing a poem

ABOUT FARBLOS: Farblos Artem is the pen name of Sana Fatima Jamshaid, a 21 year old writer from Lahore - Pakistan. She has written more than two dozen poems in the past three years. She is doing a bachelor's in Philosophy major, essence of which is brightly visible in her work. She has a complex free-verse style that dives into the depth of basic ideas of life.

GENERATIONAL CURSE

By Amanda Sharon Hancock 

You are a product of a generational curse

So, being like you, nothing is worse

I am breaking the cycle, I am breaking your chains

Your toxic spiritual drains

Your hatred for me evoked your lies

Recruiting others to hate and despise

My very existence that you created in birth

I no longer need your approval to see my worth

You tried to destroy me all because you really hate you

Playing the victim is a part of your generational voodoo

You traumatized me with your unhealed mind

Leaving me the responsibility to cease your dysfunctional bloodline

A curse that you were too selfish and too weak to end

You were also too full of hatred with a mind too small to comprehend

You are not entitled to me, I owe you not a thing

You only donated your eggs in creating me as your offspring

You contributed nothing to my successes and achievements

You only caused my bereavement

But don’t worry, not that you would

That little girl you buried persevered and endured

She took the dirt you buried her in with all the guilt and shame

She grew flowers through the concrete of her mental grave

Rising from the death of the cursed genetic blame

She made sure her daughters never felt her pain

So when you wonder why when you need me the most

I am nowhere to be found, I am simply a ghost

It is because you tried to break me but I only bent

Reshaping myself into the woman that you should have been

ABOUT THE POEM: "A poem I wrote about the mental health struggles I faced being the child of a mentally ill addict mother who still, to this day, continues to deny any involvement in causing me trauma and continues to deny that she is an addict. Poetry is a form of therapy for me. I haven't written poems since childhood, and I used to write them as a coping mechanism; this submission is my first poem in almost 30 years. I am currently a junior working towards receiving my Bachelor of Science in Counseling with an emphasis on addiction, chemical dependency, and substance abuse, thanks to the generations of maladaptive cognitions and behaviors passed through my family genetics/history. I am currently a member of three different National Honor Societies as well, and this is all thanks to my determination to provide a better life for my daughters and stop the curse."



ONE DAY AT A TIME

By K. Weber

a week

of hospital screams

that aren’t mine

mine are inside

my stomach

with side effects

swimming the current

with anxious 

blood 

a flood

of tears

won’t come

brain tries

to forget

the ambulance

i drown

i oversleep

i write in red ink

you don’t answer

from this pay 

phone

i reach

out through

my paper gown

it is almost

Christmas

or new years

i have no

shoelaces

or cigarettes

my roommate 

has a mirror

not yet in shards

ABOUT THE POEM: "'One day at a time” was written on the 20th anniversary of my week-long stay in a psych ward. I still continue to live with mental and chronic illness. My hope is that I can maintain quality of life despite often disabling conditions."

ABOUT K WEBER: K Weber obtained her Creative Writing BA in 1999 from Miami University. She is an Ohio, USA, based writer with 10 online books of poetry. She independently and collaboratively; having created poems from words donated by more than 300 people since 2018. K has also had poems featured in publications such as 'The Hooghly Review', 'Writer’s Digest', 'Fevers of the Mind', and her photography/digital collages appear in literary journals including 'Barren Magazine' and 'Nightingale & Sparrow'. 

W: www.kweberandherwords.com

I AM NOTHING BUT SHADOW SADNESS

By Tricia Lloyd Waller

And did you ever stop to consider at what cost

I present here for you these bitter sweet words?

An unfastening, a coming apart

tipping out; 

trickle becoming torrent

of long buried memories and pain 

- so much pain.

Swimming to the surface like bubbles 

blown through a squashed stripy straw

a returning to those deep dark days 

of his death.

When my world shattered 

into silvered smithereens

and there could be no returning

 to ‘my before.’

Sitting slumped in that faded armchair 

without hope, without future, 

without my son, without my soul;

whilst the pitiless house tumbled down around me.

So where were you then? 

With your fellowship of family and friends

gushing out guttural vowels promising

wise words, help and understanding? 

Today you walk straight past me as if

I am nothing but shadow sadness.

And once again I am alone surrounded in sorrow.

Your lint-laced laugh and

accusatory daggered eyes

slice right through my silky psyche.

Your outstretched arms are for others than I!

And so I turn away from your babel babble.

Stoop down low to locate my bulging bag

of grief and rise head held high to walk 

fiercely past you all and do you even notice?

For you certainly do not care - not about me!

Look instead to your own.

Revel in your camaraderie.

Celebrate with smiling snapshots on social media.

Because my smiles can never be anything

but hollow imitations. 

Tell the world how things will be different 

In the future because of you and your good intentions!

And I?

Well I continue the jigsaw puzzle

with the handful of missing pieces 

which masquerades as what is left of my life

and wait in hope that one day?

ABOUT THE POEM: "This poem is about the changing attitudes towards mental health and the support offered, and how you cannot interchange the two because some things sadly are irreparable."

ABOUT TRICIA: Tricia has recently had work accepted by Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Wildfire Words. She was 2022 winner of the Pen to Print poetry competition.

THE HARP OF THE SOUL

By James Aitchison

There is a pattern

to which all life adheres.

The weathering of the soul

precedes happiness.

Your body is merely the shell 

for your eternal self.

The self is your jewel,

the pure heart of your being.

Hear the voice within it.

When it speaks in the silence,

fear will have no place in the 

new structure of your life.

You will be free and

your path will be clear.

No shadows will cling to your being.

You will see life

through the eternal eyes of a soul

seeking its source.

ABOUT JAMES: James is an Australian author and poet who believes in the positive transformative effects of poetry. 

W: www.children's-poetry.com

THE VOYAGE

By Prudence Sage Massaria 

Through the binocular of our eyes

We watched you

Wind propelling your sailing boat

Carried you till you were no more to see

Clarion call your compass

Left to the mind of imagination

Steel beam lifted from the bow of your vessel

Echoes of your voice:

“father time i did it your way”

Arms stretched wide - the breadth of your heart

Having all your parts

United into one

Your are welcomed

The voyage over

Free from your stewardship — Shepard

Thank you from the flock

ABOUT THE POEM: This poem was written for Dr. Salvatore V. Ambrosino, my therapeutic psychiatrist throughout nineteen years of my life. I am who I am because of his unending dedication, validation, and his never giving up on me - as well as all his patients. He was our Handy Man, his Chair was never Empty. He earned his Wings.

THRIVE

By Jennifer L. Alukonis

We begin like a tree that started from a seed 

Implanted - often a muck

But just as a tree can be replanted so can we

Thriving high towards the sky the branches and I

ABOUT THE POEM: "I wrote this poem towards the end of my healing journey from overcoming childhood and adult trauma. We don’t have a choice where we come from, but I discovered on my journey that we do have a choice of where we’re going and we can flourish like a tree." 

SPONTANEOUS

By Thomas Oddie

Spontaneous and oh so unequivocal 

I ware the camouflage 

To fade away

So I become invisible 

Unexpected and oh so aware

The pain and life's convictions 

That people are here

But never realy there

So here lies your faith 

Naked and awake

Preordained to fo nothing 

Except spontaneously fake. 

ESCAPE HATCH

By Mary Bone

My secret escape hatch

is in my mind.

When things go bad,

I go there and pull up a chair.

I close the hatch and double

the latch.

I’m all alone,

with letters dangling.

I’m wrestling with letters,

to see which ones get chosen

to put on paper.

ABOUT THE POEM: "'Escape Hatch' is part of an idea I scribbled on paper. Sometimes I write part of a poem on a napkin or the back of junk mail whatever I can find to write on.

DON’T FUSS, JUST DISCUSS!

By Himanshu Ahuja

Adorned by the jewel of silence around,

There was a noise inside that didn’t sound!

A labored smile with a pensive frown,

None knew what was there deep down!

Laughing alone and talking to the self,

Like a single book placed on a closed shelf!

He tried expressing himself through all his might,

But, stopped every time, like a car at a red light!

While penning down his feelings to clear the clog,

His hands shivered as if it were Delhi’s fog!

Unable to overtly express, he succumbed to isolation,

Thereby exacerbating his extant situation!

Enriched by glitz, glamour, and immense wealth,

With a sturdy, well-built body, and physical health!

People enunciated that he was fine at all times,

For they forgot to read between the lines!

Despite being well-settled and residing in his luxurious home,

He was entrapped within the claws of ‘Imposter Syndrome’!

Traumatized by the pangs of self-doubt that did fester,

Anxiety and depression indeed continued to pester!

One really can’t judge the book by its cover,

Mental health is hard for the naked eye to discover!

Be affectionate and considerate toward one and all,

For one never knows who is fighting the inner brawl!

Being vocal about your mental state is the key,

For it liberates you and fills your life with glee!

Discussing your mental health is not a weakness,

For only audacious beings can come out of this mess!

ABOUT THE POEM: This poetry essentially captures the latent mental health issues faced by a person going through the 'Imposter Syndrome' and how critical it is for that person to be vocal about it!