By The person, whom I murdered,
was enjoying my identity.
Not until the clouds cover the moon,
not until the birds were chased by winds.
She was witnessing the ups and downs in life.
She was slowly murmuring in the chores of rain.
Thousands of questions were hidden in her silence.
It is still unanswered and deliquesced to streams.
She was enjoying my presence, humming the tales of snowy days.
For now, she points to dried hays,
also the drought it has brought.
Laughing over the flowers that bloom,
she points on thrones.
For now, she is teasing my helpless soul.
Also awakening me with relationships tangled.
I was still listening, suffocating at her words.
She was murmuring the tales of love.
She won the day, and I lost the night.
She tried to build up the palace;
where I set myself to fight with a sword.
On the same day, clouds covered the moon.
On the same day, the wind chased the birds.
The restless night whispered.
The sword cut my palms and I dropped it.
Loud shrills in my head, silence held inside me.
Squeaking scream made my ears tingle, also visions blurred.
My hand gets dirty, my walls got stained.
My heart sank for my deeds, and I started laughing.
On that day, I am unknown whether she fell or me.
On that day, the sun didn’t rise in my courtyard.
She was there witnessing my dead body with a slight smile.
Now I realize I fell that day, and I lose on my own.
I am the person who killed myself
I betrayed myself for self-love.
Those griefs were for me,
I realized I am still childish.
She finally won;
she was ahead of me at my funeral.
But I was the one who loses and was on the verge of being cremated.
-Bipana Adhikari (Studying in Gaindakot Namuna Secondary School in grade 12)
Photo by Kulbir from Pexels
Follow Offline Thinker on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. You can send us your writings at connect.offlinethinker@gmail.com
