Through the Eyes of an Albino

Everyone who is stared at

Is not, because of possession.

It’s not only the silver fed,

And the almond eyed that’re stared at.


They stare at me too.

At me, because I have not something.

Banknotes can be earned,

Hair fleeced, a face prettied.

But what I have not, I can have not.


You go sick, and that

Drains your colour, pales you.

I’m pale already, I have no colour,

And that drains me, sickens me.

Does it bother you, that

Black or even dusky skin?

Or do you wish you had not

Ordinary black, but blue

Or hazel eyes instead?

Look at me in the eyes once,

Like you should, but never do,

And tell me, should you ask for more?


And in this world of yours,

If white is what is worshiped,

Will I be made your goddess?


That skin of yours, your lover

Yearns to touch and caress,

I have not, my skin:

You can barely bear looking at.

That eyes of yours, your lover

Stares into and spins magic,

I have not, my eyes:

Sans colour, sans life.


Maybe you’re unloved,

And complain that you are.

But on me, even a crush can’t fease.

But like the millions of daily mistakes,

If someone abreast sees me anew,

Will you be pleased, or call it beastiality?


I do not, however, seek that much.

Not a soulmate, not a date even.

All I crave for is a Life.


But this is it.

As I walk,

People stare.

Children point,

Children question.

Parents silence.

To youngsters,

I’m not human.

To adults,

I’m not at all.

And this is all I can call my life.


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