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