A matter of perspective?

Drip, drip, drip…
Sanguine drops shatter the silence in a crimson pool
But the voices in her head, the perpetual screams are now quiet
Her frail figure looks serene, as though dreaming of faraway places
That curious half-smile on her lips… as always

In the aftermath,
Those who have heard the faint echoes of muffled tears
Murmur something about insanity
The truth silenced under the numbing anaesthetic of denial
Reasons – tens and thousands are given
To proclaim the victim as accused
She never confessed, she was always so happy, smiling
We all loved her so much, we were always there

Perhaps she knew what it would be like
In the beyond
And that’s why she chose to leave quietly – no note, no explanations
For, would anyone have really bothered to give it a second thought?
But her curious half-smile says it all – the eclipsed pain, the war within, the untold grief…

What would you, in your perspective, like to call it?
An accident, a suicide, or a murder?

Copyright Inara (Samrudhi Dash)

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