I’m an albino. 

I’m a white pawn rooting for the black cause. 

Even gray is exciting to me.


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Quote of the day 

“Most people have the will to win, few have the will to prepare to win.”

~Bobby Knight

The Thirteenth Spade

I’ve always wondered what happens after the end. 

Now, I’m six feet under the ground; and I still don’t know what happens.

The world has moved on, like it should have and I’m just a forgotten memory.

Remind me, why I struggled so hard to keep everyone happy again?

Was it all worthless?

Now, I live six feet under the ground.

I’m the corpse of a dead boy.

And nobody’s here to make a single sound.

I’m finally at peace…

Trapped within the torturous screams of my mind, I sleep.

I struggle with my limpy, lifeless limbs.

Can not pretend that I’m moving on, anymore.

My world is a damp, suffocating and congested place.

The earth above me mourns my death.

Her tears percolate through the layers.

They’re the sweat-beads forming on my flesh.

I’ve forgotten all about the dew drops- I’m the decay process.

I’m surrounded by friends- the worms & the ants.

The only ones, I can share myself with.

I can’t speak, they can’t listen.

But, I tell them our story anyway.

I tell them of my mistakes;

I attempt to justify my choices.

And I think they’ll understand me.

I think…

I didn’t expect to be still able to do that…

It’s a blessing;

It’s a curse.

With only you on my mind & a lot of free time-

It’s a familiar prospect.

Few people come every now & then.

Friends, whom I do not particularly miss.

They come with flowers I never really liked.

I guess, I must have meant something to them.

Some come empty handed, 

To pass on their burdens of regret.

Others try to say the things left unsaid.

A spadeful of dirt is offered in somber.

A slow shifting of the tectonic plates.

I already feel heavier with the added weight.

And in my inability to speak- I suffocate. 

It’s not about breathing anymore… 

I can’t voice my pleas for forgiveness, even now. 

I grumble under the ground- I’m unhappy even now. 

I relinquished my light to destroy my shadow. 

But it seem to have somehow followed me here. 

And you thought that life was being unfair… 

The string of one way goodbyes continue. 

Twelve visitors in seven years.

Even in death I’m ‘Mr. Popular!’

And then on my eighth posthumous birthday, she comes.

My brown-eyed girl with blue-eyed daisies in her hand!

At last! My favourite flower!

My disintegration is almost complete.

Maybe now is the time for my redemption.

I want to hear her voice, but she doesn’t speak.

She just stands there.

There’s a calm, serenity to her.

And an inexpressible emotion stains her face.

She cries.



As if she’s trying to let go of me,

As if she’s struggling to get rid of me. 

And it’s the saddest thing, I’ve ever seen.

I try to find it in my bones to rise up from the ground & hold her in an embrace.

But I can’t.

The anger…

The pain…

The helplessness…

It grows inside my decayed hollowness.

The earth carries her tears to me- 

And I know all the things I hadn’t before- 

This is the thirteenth spade-

And there’s a finality to it.

She wipes her eyes.

And I see a different ring glittering on her finger.

I’m happy she’s moved on.

She smiles her most affectionate smile at me.

And I know, what I was really waiting for.

Her smile…! 

I store it my memory and let go. 

And as my consciousness begins to fade away,

I see her bend down to place the daisies at my feet-

And see my old ring, dangling around her neck…

Maybe this isn’t over yet.

Maybe she is my anchor to immortality.

Maybe a part of me will continue to linger- 

Maybe a part of me will always be hers

Humming along her happy tunes, 

whispering sweet nothings in her ear. 


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