Scary Illness
Had a man walked the lane so prized
He would have noticed specialists agonized
By the scene too complete, too sacred,
We scared them with our illness hinted.
My walking out of bed carried weight
Of a body in time with dates and ready to accelerate.
He the man of utter distinction called his own,
His family forgave the illness of a lifetime alone.
The men of the women called nurses gathered
In the hospital, taking over the job afterward.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Are We Ill?
How many men are against us when we are ill?
Illness desires you as a last resort, when ill.
The magnificent and the abhorrent ailments
Need both cures, again and again in the hospital.
The hospital is for doctors who care,
And the nurses are fearful of you.
Patients need patience to adore the health
Of a nation in pity for their condition.
The pities are seldom seen in youth
As they are in public or private.
May the men who are against us be quiet
Now that illness is the past.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Hate Schizophrenia
I hate schizophrenia-
Spending months in a locked ward,
Pacing up and down low piled carpeted halls
Between therapy groups, and those nothing to do weekends.
Oh, how I hate schizophrenia.
I hate having schizophrenia,
Having to take at least seven medications
To get me through the day, and to take Ativan
To assure me a normal night’s sleep.
I hate having schizophrenia.
I hate this illness I have called schizophrenia.
Taking the Seroquel and Abilfy that make me ravenous so
I feel that I must spend the day vigorously exercising to
Keep my weight at a normal range, and to live on rabbit food.
How I hate this illness called schizophrenia.
I hate my terrible illness, schizophrenia.
If I don’t take multiple medications,
I hallucinate, get paranoid and delusional,
Have sleepless nights after nights, and
I have no motivation.
I have schizophrenia and how angry it makes me feel.
Nurses, so called friends and therapists half my age
Treat me as if I were a child.
I am ill so I cannot be trusted.
I have schizophrenia and how angry it makes me feel.
I hate schizophrenia.
It is an illness that has a stigma attached to it, and
It has a grip on me.
It impairs my functioning and
It mars my relationships.
I hate schizophrenia.
I despise and resent having this terrible illness.
All of my relatives are well adjusted and highly functional.
I was born the black sheep; Why am I this way?
It’s so unfair!
When I think of it tears stream down my face.
I must have removed my glasses a hundred times today to
Wipe the tears away, yet
They keep on flowing.
I despise and resent having this terrible illness.
I don’t like being diagnosed with schizophrenia.
Even in the darkness of the night on heavy medications
Voices haunt me.
I just want people to leave me alone.
I want to run away from the world and
Escape to a world of my own.
I don’t like being diagnosed with schizophrenia.
My name is not “schizophrenia”.
It is the name of this illness I was cursed with.
I am so angry now I could scream and hit the walls.
But the staff would come and grab me and throw me in seclusion, if I did.
Yes, that empty room with a hard mattress in a corner on the floor.
I could destroy myself.
I suppose all of us who have schizophrenia feel this way sometimes.
I suppose what upsets me the most is what
People say about me:
“She is schizophrenic.”
I am not “schizophrenic.”
I am a human being, flesh and blood with an illness.
I am a person, NOT an illness.
It is a constant struggle for all of us who have schizophrenia, to
Be a label, not a person.
That is the biggest problem with people in this world.
They label us, who are ill,
They don’t see us as just people.
And people we are, inside and out, not diseases.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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And then there were none
There were ten
Waiting by the road
Ready for a journey
Of an entire lifetime
The ten crossed the lake,
But the tenth was too scared
He left the others to their fates
And departed with some joy.
And then there were nine
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime
The nine walked over a bridge
But the ninth saw a beauty
Pursued her, leaving the rest
And sealed his own fate
And then there were eight
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the gorge,
The eighth saw a tree
Laden with fruits. Hunger
Consumed his life away
And then there were seven
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the mountain
Cold consumed their hearts.
The seventh saw a route
To escape from the way.
And then there were six
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
The trail went on and on
Never showed a sign of ending
The sixth lost all hope
And left the party, disgruntled.
And then there were five
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
As they walked by the desert
Their throats parched
The fifth simply
Lost the will to carry on.
And then there were four
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the river..
And the fourth saw
His family dead. Grief
Caused him to kill himself.
And then there were three
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked into the cave
And the third saw gold.
Left the journey and
Retired to a new world.
And then there were two
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
They walked by the plain
Feet overcome with pain
They began to hate the other
And the second lay dead.
And then there was one
Walking by the road,
Engrossed in the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
He struggled to reach the box
His left hand stretched
But at the moment of glory
His wounds killed him.
And then there were none.
Walking by the road,
Consumed by the journey
Of an entire lifetime.
poem by Devdan Vaidyanathan
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We Let the Illness In
At first, we both make contact
With mucus membranes,
And we let the illness in.
The fevers we may contract
Fester in our brains,
And we let the illness in.
We won't know how to react
While writhing in pain,
And we let the illness in.
Yet, such is the fate we pick,
Choosing to be sick,
And we let the illness in.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Cure For Me
I acquire the cure for my ills,
The solution is final for my illness.
It is death that resides in the middle of life,
I ignore when I am like a fortunate man.
The illness will be cured due to beasts,
They enter the planet through the vacuum.
The illness is again discontinued.
My Satan is conquered for all those watching
So that ill men who see can nevertheless find
The very soul to be complete.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I still when I wake up hit the ground running; and having an illness, I'm only one of hundreds of thousands of people that live with an illness, and I'm just in awe of the bravery and dignity of the people I see at the hospital.
quote by Karen Duffy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In my thoguhts i am alone
In my thoughts i am alone
where i fear no one understands
the pain the illness the sadness
the nightly terrors i handle alone
this experience i cant handle of this illness
they call bipolar the way im defined or labled that
one can not see past to see who i am beyond the illness
who is scared of herself who is caring for others more than herself
who will do anything to make another happy
but for one to meet someone who is 'bipolar' thats what they see
unstable depressed manic angry mood swing mess
but what they dont understand is how stable is not in our world
and it doesnt define us it makes us who we are
this illness we battle alone cause unless you have it
you can never fully understand and even if you do i dont think
we can fully understand it...
alone in this illness
alone in these thoughts
alone is how i feel
i cry alone when i feel alone
i sleep to be alone to feel nothing
to feel nothing or empty is what i need
it would be better than the saddness and hurt and
the feeling of alone
my tears fall alone
i enjoy being alone but the feeling of alone is
something i can not handle
to feel like there is no one
to feel like no one can truely understand or care
i only ache with this fear
i try to cry and scream for help but no one seems to hear
so lost in this illness and how to not feel alone
poem by Juliana Willsey
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Women
Women...
Some budy
Called flower...
Some budy
Called moon...
Some budy
Called Brandy...
Somebudy
Called hourse...
Some budy
Called donkey...
Some budy
Called basterd...
Some calling
Some of word's
Women with women's...
This words are
Not full fill
The women...
World wide
Women is beauty...
Women is sexy...
Thats thats...
But...
Women is what...?
Not only women
Women is your mother...
Women is your sister...
Women is your wife...
Women is doughter...
Women is your gran mother...
Women is your friend...
Not only above...
Women is a human...
Human is women...
Understand too
All women's...
With your heart...
At your humunity...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Union Cures The Illness
For any illness,
The symptoms and signs are within oneself, but
The cure is obtaining medicines from source outside;
Whereas,
For the illness of a well jeweled mistress
Who is longing for union with lover,
She herself is the medicine,
Union cures the illness.
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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The best doctor prevents illness, an average doctor visits when the illness is imminent, and the unskilled doctor treats your present illness.
In Bed
I am bed ridden and admitted in hospital
I get disheartened on doctor’s arrival
May thoughts cross over in mind?
Doctors come treat me and be very kind
I am totally afraid of death
I know how people offer wreath
Hey will be sobbing and remain in tears
I go berserk and loose heart to bear
I know no harm will be done
All illness may disappear and certainly gone’
I shall be back home with full cheers
I shall smile again without any tears
It is time to express our gratitude
And this should be general attitude
No need to express grief, sorrow
He has done all well for tomorrow
The illness can’t be contributed to anything
That can take place with anybody for something
It is body and may fell apart any time
Don’t think negative about it anytime
Keep only one faith
That may avoid the death
Rest everything is decided and in time
We may miss and curse it sometimes
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Road to Success
The road to success is not straight,
There is a curve called FAILURE,
A loop called CONFUSION,
Speed bumps called FRIENDS,
Red light called ENEMIES and
caution lights called FAMILY.
But if you have a spare called
DETERMINATION,
An engine called PERSEVERANCE,
Insurance called FAITH and
A driver called JESUS (GOD, ALLAH, ISHVAR)
You will make it to a place called
SUCCESS
poem by Pratiksha Jain
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Mother 22/09/09
BlitheIy I called my sister, yesterday
my mother reported ‘Do not bother me
I cannot entertain you’ - I thought I was
helping her, I was wrong, my loud
presence taxed her limited power
At the end of today after finishing my German
document and the scrambled letter from Brussels
that does not make sense, I called her – my sister
cried, ‘Mother is white as a sheet, tired, I walked
until my feet hurt
PLEASE support me’ - now I can mean something
to my family, although specialists say there was
implosion of little bones, I believe that my
mother’s life and abilities – even her
looks! – are safe....
poem by Margaret Alice
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The Scottish Cow
They call you a cow
When you walk down the street
That doesn't make any sense to me,
As I have been to a farm once before
And cows there, I have seen.
So I would like to know why
You are called that name
And what does it really mean,
As you don't look or act like a cow
But maybe there's something, I haven't seen.
Your daughters bow their head
Whenever they are next to you
As though as they are ashamed,
Is it their fault for that name your called
If not, then who is to be blamed.
Women still point at you
And the men they still smile
Whenever that you walk by
I still don't understand the name your called,
But maybe one day, I will ask you why.
Questions come to my mind
About the word your called
Every time that you are walking past,
Like will they ever stop calling you a cow
Or will that name forever last.
As you don't moo
And you are not fat at all
And certainly your not cover up in fur,
But your called a cow on a daily bases
And to me that seems so absurd.
So when your daughters get older
Will they also be called cows
Just like you their dear old mother
Maybe that's why they are bowing their heads
They are pretending or wishing they are some other.
And the women they still point
As the men they still smile and talk
Whenever you walk that mile,
Then maybe in fact you are what you are
And maybe indeed, you are a cow.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Possibility Of Disease
Dance with the possibility of disease,
Validate your health when called by him
Who is the doctor, the doctor of healing.
To establish this is nearly the success
Of a lifetime, of lances and arrows
In need of war and battle.
You are lacking proof of the war
Plaguing the world, the war is where?
It may be hidden or it may be lost
By the side who fought so many wars.
Disease was the obstacle of peace,
Illness has brought us to corruption.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Gaping Holes
A single thread of illness,
One has in mind...
And accepted over time,
Will eventually fray what has been sewn...
To be shown and detected as problematic.
But the effects overwhelmingly seen...
Will never correct or mend,
Those gaping holes...
In a family of assorted fabrics.
All waited too late to make attempts...
Pretending a nonexistence in its making,
Had begun a slow unravelling.
Thinking the occurrence of this illness,
Was something to dismiss.
However,
Allowing just one piece of thread...
To pull them 'consciously' apart,
Becomes apparently obvious when viewed...
In the most inappropriate of places.
As this illness decays with intention.
'Wait a minute!
So what I had been told,
Was not true? '
~What you had been 'told' to believe,
Never existed.~
'Well...
How did all of this begin? '
~That should be easy for anyone to detect,
NOW.
A squeaking wheel ignored claiming to be victimized,
Has a way of getting louder and louder...
With a gaining of momentum as time goes on.
And all knew from the beginning,
Where the noise was coming from.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fear is a question: What are you afraid of, and why? Just as the seed of health is in illness, because illness contains information, your fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if you explore them.
quote by Marilyn Ferguson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fear is a question What are you afraid of, and why Just as the seed of health is in illness, because illness contains information, your fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if you explore them.
quote by Marilyn Ferguson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I still have in my memory, almost agonizing impressions of a serious illness which I had when I was about eight years old. Those about me called it scarlet fever, and its very name seemed to have a diabolical quality.
quote by Pierre Loti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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