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A poetry describing the last days of a schizophreniac. 
Typewriters click and emotions burst, 
I don’t know which love portion will quench my thirst, 
In an empty packet on my night table, there is a strand of your hair, 
I’m sure that the front of your home is stacked with letters to nowhere.

Day in Day out, I type my soul’s chants,
Those hymns praising you and how your voice enchants.
But only I hear those sweet sounds that are immersed in air,
Your voice echoes through my heart, as I write letters to nowhere.

The mirage of your face shines in the mirror beside me,
The glimmer of your eyes illuminates everything that I see.
The sun rays that scatter in this dusty air, aren’t as bright as your skin so fair, 
I reminisce about our days together, as I write these letters to nowhere.

The memories I have made with you, in an invisible pile they are stacked, 
Why couldn’t we be together forever? What was it that I lacked? 
I wanted I hate you though I couldn’t dare -
Do you realise, that I’m writing you these letters to nowhere?

My mother was terrified of the way I behaved,
Father couldn’t believe that it was you, who I craved,
Though the drops of my fallen tears can be seen no more, 
I still write these letters to you, evermore.

They said that you never existed here, 
They claimed that you were to be found nowhere,
That you are a fragment of my mind, I’d never believe that!
I’ve spent eons searching for where you could be at.

They told me to take my pills so that I could forget you,
As if that’s something I’d ever do.
My eternal longing for you keeps me plague-bound, 
There are days when I wonder if you’ll ever be found. 

But your memories keep me locked here, 
I stare at the cracked ceiling sometimes, 
Thinking of what to write to you, in my letters to nowhere.
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