Depression is a monster
That destroys both heart and soul.
It tortures without mercy
And consumes its victim whole.

It cripples and disables,
Making life too hard to cope.
It can make each day a nightmare
And leave a person without hope.

Some people feel this sadness
From the time that they are young,
And believe that they are different
And can't be loved by anyone.

It's reinforced by parents
Too depressed themselves to care
For that child they're supposed to love,
But instead forget is there.

Depression can be nurtured
Through violence and neglect
And fists used only to degrade
And words used to reject.

It's hidden in those bullies
Who torture and demean,
Who use their words like weapons
To destroy all self-esteem.

It's fueled by those substances,
That are used to help escape.
From that endless pain depression brings
And that unbearable heartache.

It can cause someone to just give up,
To lose all strength to fight.
It can annihilate one's very soul
And make them take their life.

Yes, Depression is a vulture
That will make anyone its prey.
There is no one who deserves it,
And there is no one to blame.

We don't need to make a judgment,
But we need to be aware
That those who suffer through this pain
Just need the world to care.

A waving rifle
In a pain struck hand
A lonely boy
He forgot how to stand
A knife of beauty
Cut in his flesh
A trail of blood
New and fresh
A single breath
Taken today
Before he tried
To run away
A single pill
To end it all
A final hope
To jump and fall
A new letter
He didn't know why
A single phrase
"Please don't die"

A lonely girl
In a mistaken world
Another fight
About to unfurl
A single dream
Of another life
A large hope
To be more than a wife
A smile curving
Up on her lips
A plan folding out
In careful strips
A pen she finds
Carefree on the floor
A paper she grabs
Then walks out the door
A little plea
She sends through the air
Then throws it in
Without a care
A hurting boy
Will read this too
And she hopes he knows
"I care about you"

I remember the grass,
my fingertips twirling between
the blades,
and the rays of heat
as they give life
to keep the past
in the present-
a dietary aid
to all,
with trees to provide
some shade

I had forgotten
because I hid inside
four walls that weren’t
just physical
but of the mind:
closed off to nature
and the care that
my loved ones deserved

Gradually,
the seeds have been sown
for I am outside again
learning about hard work
with hummingbirds
that mew in the wind
and bees buzzing
as they collect their due
from this life giving earth,
the one right underneath
that I always forget
to appreciate,
but will forever
find my way back
to her
and her healing ways

There's something...
infinitely beautiful,
dancing, delicately,
on pulled threads,
across nimble fingers:

the cat's cradle,
between emotional agony,
and mental silence.  

When every tear, is at last, exhausted...
when your lungs, wheeze, fluidly,
from helpless overexertion,
and, gasping for breath,
you turn your cheek, for air,
your pillow:
now, a man-made lake...

the numbness... suffuses,
your entire being.

Loud suffering, falls silent.
Red-rimmed eyes,
become too swollen,
to examine their own pain.

The nothingness blankets you,
in its warmest embrace.
You become swaddled; baby-soft, again,
yet plated, in auric detachment.

...Nothing, can touch me,
nothing,
can inform, my placid heart,
to beat.

in this moment,
I am free, of its emotional trappings.
its threads, can't pin me;
its pull, can't drag me down.

My lips,
shape a smile,
but it only serves, to show...
that it no longer hurts,
to stretch a wooden bridge,
across the gaping void.

...but even so... it's just a band-aid.

It won't fix, what's broken,
and the blood,
will seep through,
the gauze, again.
The pain, will return;
it'll grow knuckles,
that form fists,
which wield knives.

But, for now...
I lay myself, to rest...
blunted, mummified,
in a buzzing swathe,
of pristine, white.........





silence

काश उस दिन उसका भी कोई भाई होता,
आज वो सितारा हमारे बीच ज़िंदा होता।
काश कोई उसे जाकर बचा लेता,
कम से कम उसका तो ख़ून न बहता।

नरभक्षी भेड़ियों ने ली थी उसकी जान,
छोड़ा था उसे वहीं तड़पता, लहूलुहान।
चिल्लाती रही वो उसी जगह पर,
न जाने कितने ही जुल्म हुए थे उस पर।

नारी को निर्वस्त्र करने का परिणाम –
इस भूमि ने महाभारत देखा था।
धिक्कार है ऐसे समाज पर –
उसी भूमि ने आज यह अपराध देखा था।

जल रही हैं मोमबत्तियां शोक व्यक्त करने,
आंदोलन कर रहे हैं लोग और दे रहे हैं धरने।
क्या इस बार होगा उन दरिंदों पर कठिन शासन,
या फिर एक बार उभरेगा एक नया दुःशासन?

Alien.

That’s all it takes.
Say it enough times—
with enough pride,
with enough certainty,
say it like it’s harmless—
and you start to believe it.
You convince yourself some people
don’t belong here.
That some lives weigh less.
That some suffering is acceptable.
And soon,
you forget they were ever people to begin with.

This is where it begins.
Not with camps.
Not with walls.
With words—
small, familiar, deadly.
Words that divide.
Words that erase.
Words that strip humanity away
layer by layer,
until you look at a person
and only see a problem.

And what happens next?
We dress it up.
We call it safety.
We call it policy.
We call it normal.

But let’s not pretend.

Alligator Alcatraz is not a policy.
It’s not a technicality.
It’s not safety.
It’s a concentration camp.
Built by people who learned nothing
from the blood their ancestors drowned in.

And I am from Germany.
I know this pattern.
I know how fast words become walls.
How quickly division becomes destruction.
How easily neighbors become strangers,
become threats,
become numbers.

We screamed it into history books—
Never again.
We tattooed it across generations.
We carved it into memorials.
We taught it in classrooms.
We promised.

But promises mean nothing
if we look away now.

It never starts with gas chambers.
It starts with small lines—
borders,
walls,
categories.
It starts with us and them.
When fear speaks louder.
When division feels safer than empathy.
When language poisons the foundation
before anyone notices.
It starts
when people feel so distant,
so different,
that hurting them feels justified.

And I’ll say it plainly—
You cannot be neutral while this happens.
You either fight—
or you help them build the fences.

Because it always ends the same way—
with camps,
with cages,
with bodies counted in hindsight,
and the world pretending
no one saw it coming.

But we do see it coming.
We see it now.
And if we refuse to speak,
if we refuse to fight—

history isn’t repeating itself.
We are repeating it.

Cast on a canvas of colorless fun,
we look for the sun, hence shadows to shun.
Hidden's the day's dye backwoods a child's eye,
only some walk nigh where lost colors lie.

Days cradle dovely birth to raven death;
would-be songs riffle around the brief breath.
‘Tis in the eye to hear the coo in the blue.
Beware the rat’s coup in the republic of rue.

Pick all vibrant hues, eschew the tethered.
Dyes of default-assent beget hatred.
Blinded casements dismiss good sentiments,
ghosting gold in saturated sediments.

When sentinels descry where bluebirds fly,
the blues won't cry, but comply and chirp by.

Repost
© Hirondelle, June 25, 2025
    Arif Hifzioglu