Took him on the cusp of youth like a thief.
Sent voices and lies to make him comply.
Rob him of memories, leaving fragments.
There was a time he won prizes for me.
There was a time when lilting symphony
Pervaded the night, Fiddler on the Roof.
Passers-by laugh and mock, “Where is your God?”
A montage of life’s vignettes filter by.
Despondent, bewildered, I make my way.
Frigid concrete, silent, cold, looms ahead,
Fragile dewdrops trickle on nature’s palm.
If I fall on bended knees, implore you,
Schizophrenia, would you return my son?