The Psychiatrist
The Psychiatrist
You make pleasant YouTube videos about things that you learned
From books, countless courses, trainings
And what you heard from others.
And chiselled and smoothed your voice
So that it is as warm and pleasant
As synthesised music.
And control each facial muscle
Like well-drilled soldiers.
Your back is held straight
With well-ordered shoulders
And you force your hands
To stay open in a welcoming pose.
But your eyes are like painted glass
And seem trapped and secure
Behind your designer specs,
Like fishes in a bowl.
And your shadow crouches in the corners
Of your manicured disguise
Like an old actor stuck in a successful play
In a famous theatre.
Mother, Father, Brother, uncle, friend and teacher.
Therapist and preacher.
You know all the lines by heart,
All the cues, replies and timing.
But you never learnt to improvise or fall
And your heart is safe
In the cupboard with your scarves, hats and gloves
And with other things that you hardly ever use.
Sometimes I wonder if you know it’s there,
You never take it out to play,
Or for walks in the park
And it just waits mutely
Lost,
In the dark.
You look at her with eyes
That are a pleasing shade of blue
But as cold the morning dew
But never seem to melt
Even in the warmth of the day.
You have memorised each response
To every move, expression and emotion
That she shows.
And have learned how to treat
Each inner scratch, cut and bruise
Like a repairer of cars
And to you, all her dysfunctions
Are simply mechanical
And you provide just enough maintenance
So that for a while,
She can navigate the traffic again.
But you play her like a skilful chess player,
Know each move that she will make,
Always one step ahead.
Like a lover, you know all her cracks and secrets
Hopes and fears.
But you with your poker face
Never show your hand
But keep her on the edge of her seat
And she feels hypnotised
And cannot imagine missing her weekly fix,
Because peace of mind is what she gets from you
For a while…
And so remains trapped
In your merry-go-round
Because she’s petrified and knows
There is no-one else to catch her fall.
But you can’t teach her self-love,
Dignity or respect,
Or how to be free
From the incessant voices in her head
And icy cloak of shame.
How to unlock her cage,
Or break out of her box.
Don’t know how
To help her to find her wild fire again,
Or how to understand and play
The vast rhythms and melodies
From the orchestra of her heart.
Your own travels never took you that far
And you are stuck on your shore
And have so many very good reasons
Why you won’t “even” dip your toes
In the unknown waters.
© Sangeet Portals 2019
Copyright © Sangeet Portals | Year Posted 2021
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