Her Story

There is an apartment just opposite mine

the front door of which is always locked.

Who must be staying in there? I wonder,

There is no one to be seen.

But I hear sometime screams, cracking through the walls;

breaking the long strangling stillness,

Today late night  I caught a glimpse of her

large dark eyes with heavy kohl.

The curly hair pulled behind in a bun.

An essence of elegance-She had it all

This was the first time in eons I was seeing my neighbor.

She left, but her perfume stayed in the corridor.

I knew nothing about her; she was a mystery

I would spot her sometimes weeping in the corner of her balcony.

I hesitated to ask why she cried

Because in today’s times, we have stopped interfering in someone else’s life.

And then I hear the siren

A lot of commotion in the corridor

I look through the peephole

To see some people lift a body draped in white

A case of suicide

She was gone. This time, no perfume stayed in the corridor.

I was shaken

Only if I had knocked that door once; only If I had talked to her once

Only if I had asked the reason for those screams, those tears

But no! we are busy in our own world

And interfering in someone’s story is forbidden in today’s world.

Image: Dmitry Schemelev Unsplash