(On Mental Health Stigma in Africa)

He walks alone, yet none can see,

The ghosts that claw, the silent plea.
His mind a maze, his soul a storm,
Yet still they say, “Just keep the norm.”

The whispers crawl beneath his skin,
A war unseen, yet fought within.
No bruises bloom, no scars take shape,
Yet shadows pull, yet voices scrape.

The elders scoff, the preachers claim,
That sorrow bends through faith and flame.
Yet prayers alone won’t mend the mind,
When demons whisper, cruelly kind.

They call it weakness, name it sin,
Yet never see the war within.
They tell him “Rise,” they tell him “Fight,”
Yet close their ears to his own night.

He bites his tongue, he feigns a grin,
Yet inside, cracks still spread within.
For battles fought in silent space,
Can break the soul in their embrace.

A tear unshed, a word unspoken,
A heart still fights, though long since broken.
Yet even darkness yields to care,
If hands will hold, if love is there.

The silent wars must now be heard,
No pain should hide behind a word.
For minds are strong, yet need relief,
Let healing bloom beyond belief.