The Magic Flute

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.....