Areata’s whisper: A silent storm

A silent storm beneath the skin,

A battle waged, yet none can win.

No warning sign, no call to fight,

Just falling strands in morning light.

A fleeting touch, a gentle breeze,

Yet hair departs with aching ease.

A patch, a void, a space so bare,

A whispered loss, a silent stare.

The mirror shifts, the world takes note,

But strength is more than what is shown.

For beauty lies in what we weave—

The love we give, the dreams we breathe.

Each strand that falls, a tale untold,

Yet in its place, new strength unfolds.

The hands that trace where curls once lay,

Now shape new paths in light of day.

No locks define, no strands contain,

The spark within will still remain.

Through loss, through change, through all unknown,

The self is whole—the soul has grown.

So let the world gaze, let them see,

A beauty fierce, a spirit free.

For in this space where hair once grew,

Blooms something bright, alive, and true.

Alopecia areata is an organ-specific autoimmune condition characterised by non-scarring hair loss, often with a sudden onset and an unpredictable course. Its pathogenesis involves an autoreactive T-cell–mediated attack on hair follicles. Yet beyond the biology lies a quieter struggle—one often invisible to the clinical eye. It is the young girl who avoids the playground wind, the teacher who hesitates before facing her class, the man who keeps a hat on, even indoors. Actress Jada Pinkett Smith, who has publicly shared her struggle with alopecia areata, brought global attention to the emotional toll of the disease, reminding us that hair is not merely aesthetic, but deeply personal; a thread tied tightly to one’s identity. As science advances, offering new hope through targeted therapies like Janus kinase inhibitors, so must our understanding. This poem gives voice to that silent storm, calling for care that treats not just the condition, but the soul beneath.