I’m restless.

I should lie down on the grass,

And be restless on the grounds of my psyche.

The birds are singing.

It’s a nice day,

For being restless outside.

But the garden is small,

Big enough to lie in,

And to rest restless in the sun.

So I go to the football ground,

Where is big enough to rest around,

In peace.

But I have my restlessness and my worries,

About the house, Yeonneh and my university work.

I try to walk around for some peace.

But I can’t look around,

My eyes are fixated inwardly,

Looking into my thoughts.

My thoughts are: akathesia,

Procyclidine, sertraline and risperidone.

And two more days and three nights here in the strict ward.

A breathe starts,

Then turns into wind,

This works better than the Procyclidine.

The sun,

Which I think is the same family

As Sertraline, is still shining.

So I’ll go picking buds of akathesia,

In the fields of my 

risperidonic sertranilinal restlessness.

Written by: Hasty Pezhman Najdy

Summer 2026