The Picture by Vaibhav Mohan

 

'Twas nothing unusual

Just like any of its kind

Still the picture on the wall,

Strange thoughts it brought to the mind

The face of a lady it held

A face so pure,

It made u unsure

Done in two colors-black and white,

Made me always sit up tight

Specially fascinating were her eyes

Unbearable pain they spoke of

Could almost hear the cries

Often stood for hours

Staring at it

Into those unfathomable eyes of hers

Desperately seeking the secret concealed

With a feeling,

To only me would it be revealed

As I looked onto her one day,

Think it was the eighteenth of May

Overcome by passion

I had to know,

Or I wouldn't go

Was it a figment of my imagination

Or did those eyes truly blink?

Guess it was hallucination

And I couldn't think

There was a powerful feeling

Irresistible,

To go near

Very near

To her

She was really moving!

The picture was alive

Rooted to the spot I stood,

Summoned all the will I could

To turn 

And run

But that imploring look

Beckoned me

To stay

An uncontrollable desire

To touch her

Maybe was like playing with fire

But I had to touch her

As I reached out for her,

A blinding flash

And with a dash

Was transported into a world

Where she was alive

And oh! Was she beautiful!

Vivaciousness in her laughter

A spring in her step

An infectious smile

She was life itself!

And who was this man

To whom she turned

With such a loving look?

Through my heart a hole it burned

She moved to embrace him

He took hold of her by the neck

And the unsuspecting, loving look

Turned to one of horror

And then pain

Pain which I recognised

She died in his arms

And I realized something was wrong

Was this the cause of the pain which filled her?

Oh that? I knew about it all along

'Cause I'm the one who killed her...