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I Bury Myself Alive

Updated: Feb 6

By Vidhutma Singhania


I bury myself alive,

every single night.


I dig my own grave,

fistful of dirt at a time.


Bring out my shovels,

when the schedule feels tight.


I tend to leave

a few pebbles behind.


Some grass, mushrooms, stones

or crystals that I find.


No, they aren’t the pleasure of the mortal world

that I deserve tonight.



They’re simply the souvenirs

after all, I did live a life.


When I’ve decorated my grave,

with memories alone, I smile.


Because, in my bones, I know

it’s the final moment to lie.


Instead of being gracefully placed,

I collapse into the ground, it’s wry.


I hyperventilate till my last breath

counting down to my last sight.


A shooting pain between my chest & my throat

leads to a helpless cry.

And I’m suddenly woken up to see

the rising Sun in the sky.


I bury myself alive

every single night.


By Vidhutma Singhania



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shekhar Gaikwad
shekhar Gaikwad
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