The Witness

Cuddling in the early winter chill

They sat there, arm in arm

Chatting away to their heart’s fill;

Stirring love in the breezy calm.

I stare at them for countless hours,

Listening to her whispers shy;

The twinkling eyes of that blushing flower,

Oblivious to my silent cry.

The moon prances in the starry show,

To observe an innocent damsel’s demise

As he pours an exquisite wine, so slow

And quaffs all love, for he is a devil in disguise.

Her demeanor mellow, her heart glowing red,

For love is her elixir and faith her friend.

But little does she know she will soon be dead,

As her ears get no word from my shouts till the end.

She choose a witty devil with the mask

Who seeks not love, but money for pride.

And had I the voice to tell her of his hidden flask,

He would’ve paid and she wouldn’t have died.

Her cold body now sleeps in my frozen lap,

All colours still warm but lifeless in sleep;

I am a witness remember treacherous chap,

With words of your crime in me, reverberating deep.

“He killed her! I know!” I screech and yell.

They don’t know I witnessed this heinous crime.

But what could a dead log possibly tell;

So they leave me like always - a Park bench for all time.

-Vaisakhi Mishra

PS- Image courtesy Google.