Suppression and Oppression of Depression/ 31/03/1999April 12, 2023
Have I become a real lunatic
Just because my mind is poetic?
If my schedule becomes hectic,
My brain's act won't be chaotic.
In life, nicely I am not able settle,
My mind is waging ever a battle,
I get sleep that is extremely little,
I am ineligible for the Nobel-title.
I may be, in a way, highly lettered,
But, my ambition stands shattered.
By sad ideas, I am badly battered,
Toward me, why is God embittered?
By sharp thorns, my path is decorated,
From normal persons, I am segregated,
By insomnia, my agony is aggravated,
I don't know for sure why I was created.
Into a mad man, I am by time converted,
Foolish love-affairs, I could have averted,
By peace of mind, I am casually deserted,
Have I become dangerously perverted?
I loved to become a superstar,
With destiny, I waged a war,
My mental injury has left a scar,
Toward me, so unkind, Gods are.
Death alone is the best remedy,
Which will solve my life's tragedy,
To die, I am ever with mirth ready,
To end good souls, God is speedy.
Toward me, can't God be kind and lenient?
For decades, I have been a mental patient.
Aren't the consumed medicines sufficient?
Or in positive thoughts, am I not efficient?
To have sleep, if my eyes I close,
Away from me, peace soon goes,
What a threat sad ideas impose?
To die, to God, I firmly propose.
To die, I am surely destined,
Now, to hell, I am confined,
By God, my sleep is detained,
This is what I have opined.
M V Venkataraman