The scratchy vinyl kept spinning,
The Magic Flute played;
yet, clock announced its heartbeat
loud, the ticking.
The girl,
planted a searching kiss on your lips.
She wondered if you,
her fiancé,
loved her still.
Love, a stranger to you,
the kisses, you couldn\'t feel—
on the canvas of your mind,
you started reliving a scene:
pallors on those women lying still.
The storm,
gave way to the calm.
You asked yourself:
would you ever feel life
at the sound of
a woman\'s beating heart?
Or were you doomed to see
the knife piercing their bodies
again and again,
as the blood spurted out?
A confusion,
who you were.
They died with tears in their eyes
but left you wishing
you didn\'t survive.
Who killed them? couldn\'t recall.
The killer\'s face,
only a fragment—
the face was calm.
The knives plunged lovingly,
as if he was making love.
No elation in his face,
only the finale,
the only outcome of permanence
of an all-consuming love.
Magic Flute played-
the music took you back
to that scene,
where their lifeless bodies laid
and it played.
There, she kissed again-
you felt an urge to make love.
Yet, the perfume she wore...
that place where they died,
smelled different...
Frozen:
which love-
like the killer\'s?
The Magic Flute played.....