Red Stain On The Asfalt

By Prabir Kumar Datta

All was over as they removed the corpse,

The rabble began to disperse.

A patch of blood on the asphalt, of course,

 Dazzled and reminded of the curse.

Although it was a deadly traffic accident,

A sudden cut off of a smile,

There was a sudden shock of the incident, 

That too lasted but for a while.

Vehicles began to ply back normally again,

 Crowd that gathered melted fast,

The city urgently tried to forget the stain,

Only a tattle remained at last.

A lot of grandeur is needed even at one’s death,

As we do in case of love and hate.

But here there was nobody to present a wreath,

Nor anyone wept for losing a mate. 

When someone is lost, keens remember the grief,

They obey rituals and shed tears.

But dying alone like this, no one wants to believe, 

  Is more painful, burns silently for years.

Existence is like that, like ripples in an ocean.

Life and death are crest and trough.

In the endless course they will ever flow on.

 Sorrow doesn’t last, not even laugh.

By Prabir Kumar Datta