By Susmita Chatterjee Alias Aloakash
The white, like a wrapper of snow
Stretched in and stretching the horizon
From a distance, a black car with its headlight glaring, rushes
Trees on the roadside passes fast
Except one, that one
Wearing, a purple velvet cloak
She is not fully draped in white yet
Her magnetic magnificence
Repelling and repelling
And
Drawing closer and closer
That woman, yes, that’s the woman
The black car stops with a screech
Headlights dims
A crack
Rapid succession of tremors and the headlight flashes off.
In one of the headlines of the morning newspaper, they read that a man died in a car
accident.
Only, the neighbour knew.
The neighbour who saw the man beating his wife
Every night
Before stripping her off to bed.
One night, she protested.
The last night in which she protested
The neighbour knew
She was killed and buried under a tree
Which bore magnificent purple flowers.
By Susmita Chatterjee Alias Aloakash
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