An Incarcerated Room Poem by Muhammad Umair

As I walk into this room,
An inevitable feeling of retrospect 
Befalls me. I behold all 
That has never been there. You—
Your pictures, your talks, your laugh,
Your sharing of a cup of tea with me.
I behold it all. I sit beside the window
Keeping it ajar, contemplate people
Who are far and really, really far.
Things have occurred like you have—
Only in memories. I have stopped talking to you,
Since people call it schizophrenia. 
As I now behold the room,  
I get imbued with gloom. 
Because there ain't any room.
The box I ecstatically call my room,
Seems like my incarcerated doom.