The Murder Case - By Svara Naidoo

Written By: Svara Naidoo

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

We are pleased to feature "The Murder Case" by Svara Naidoo, a compelling poetic entry in the Poetry category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This poignant work delves into themes of justice, reputation, and societal judgment. With a narrative that challenges perceptions, Svara Naidoo's poem invites readers into a world where innocence and guilt are intertwined in a dramatic tale. Join us as we explore the depths of this narrative and its impact on the human condition.

About the Work

"The Murder Case" by Svara Naidoo is a gripping narrative poem that weaves a story of alleged murder, societal judgment, and the quest for justice. The poem's tone is intense and suspenseful, echoing the protagonist's struggle against unfounded accusations. Through vivid imagery and a rhythmic flow, Naidoo crafts a world where societal perceptions clash with personal truth, leaving readers to ponder the complexities of innocence and the power of reputation.

The Murder Case by Svara Naidoo

Original Submission by Svara Naidoo

The Murder Case

By Svara Naidoo

I killed a man, shot him right between the eyes.

Watched the life drain from his mind.

I think, I thought,

I was told; I guess I’m not entirely sure.

A father, a son, a brother, a love.

The definition of the good die young.

His family called the cops, and they came and pointed their guns and said, “who done it?” and one by one they pointed at me, “officer it was her. Look at the weapon she carries in her right hand.”

A sword is what I wield.

The officer says she’s not guilty, the man was shot not stabbed.

So, they scream from the sidelines, “we will get our revenge, and you’ll pay the price for the untimely death of a friend.”

And I say, “Okay, I won’t hide when it’s my time and the justice system decides that I am guilty of this crime.”

They go to the court and plead with the judge.

He says, “There is no evidence, I mean she wasn’t even born.

He died before her time.”

Maybe she’s a witch, they scream with fire in their eyes.

Maybe she’s a bitch, the other mumbles with a shake in his sigh.

Maybe she cast a spell so well that we all believe the innocent lies she sells

like a siren in the ocean, she leads men to their demise.

The court tells them to move on, they’re taking up the roll,

there are more important things, like the boy who fell out of love with his girl

and is taking their house and the son they swore they loved.

But anyway, I wait in suspense for the day

the officer will come to say-

I am guilty of this offence.

But I got tired of waiting and watching a clock

to pay for the sins of a life lost.

So, I moved on, lived my life, stayed away from all the strife.

The post man waved and then sneered

at the girl who killed a man with a simple stare.

“She’s evil,” they all say.

As I walked through a town disguised in hate.

I scream, “I am innocent,” an alibi,

I wasn’t even there that day.

“Oh, she has gone mad with those violent ways.”

So, I kept quiet, sewed my lips shut

and thought if I never speak again,

I will never be out of luck.

A few years passed,

my mother sees the family in a pub,

she sits at a far away table and is sensitive to their cause.

They come over all jolly over beers and bourbon shots,

they enjoy each other’s company,

wow maybe they’ve moved on!

Then one breaks a glass over my mother’s head,

“Your daughter is a killer, get out,

run away and pay off this debt.”

She walks away with grace, not another word.

Grief is a poison It corrupts their entire world.

There’s no evidence, the prosecutor won’t take the case,

as far as she knows, this girl is innocent, I cannot put her away.

A few more years passed and I moved on with my life.

I got an education in a new city with new sights.

I forgot about the watching and waiting

and being silent all the time.

I let myself live,

until I needed to serve the time.

My brother saw the grieving in a club,

dancing away their sorrow, laughing with love.

He avoided them, understanding of their spite.

They have to share a town, not a glass of wine.

So, he strayed from their stares and dares

and left them to be

but they came over silly asking why did he flee,

they drank and sang and enjoyed music. They were fine.

Then they grabbed my brother by the throat, took the breath from his mouth.

Your life for his or get out.

My brother grabbed his things and said, “okay that’s fine.”

“I will leave the country and start a new life.

I will change my name and wear a disguise.

I’ll send my whole family into the wild,

to be eaten or live like the wolves.

Become monsters dressed in wool.”

But I said enough is enough, I screamed from rooftops;

“This town painted me as a monster without any proof.”

My brother says there’s no point-

they believe that they are right and

that’s the most dangerous type of pride.

So, I call the executioner, “let’s give them what they want,

I’m guilty on all accounts, I killed a man in cold blood.”

The entire town dressed in wool,

demons and monsters hiding their thrill.

They applaud, “Finally, we’re done, her blood will spill.

Paint the town red, like that political pill.”

Hang her from the heavens,

let her mind be flooded

with the evil she’s committed.

Let her mother watch the sin of her womb

snap before the morning dew.

Or get out the guillotine,

let’s make it a show.

Take the head off the beast and watch it roll.

Let’s tie her up and set her on fire,

let the smell feed the city streets

so we’ll remember the day of the great defeat!

But the grieving family were nowhere to be seen

because after the death of a girl who didn’t do anything.

They found the gun attached to a note or a bomb.

Oh, he shot himself. I guess we were wrong.

Now another family grieves the child they lost.

The town is confused, “But you convinced us they were demons carrying a cross.

We persecuted them for the things they have done;

we made them flee their home

and burnt it to the ground.”

The girl was a child; you told us she was the one.

We spilled our own blood,

that’s a curse on all of us.

So, I died a martyr not a killer,

all because people convinced themselves they were right about a reputation

that did not have a chance to survive.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar stands as a beacon for writers and poets worldwide. It celebrates diverse voices and unique perspectives, fostering a sense of community among creative minds. This prestigious event is dedicated to showcasing literary excellence and encouraging participants to push the boundaries of their craft, offering a platform for both emerging and established talents to shine.

We extend our gratitude to Svara Naidoo for sharing "The Murder Case" with us as part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your contribution adds a powerful voice to the poetic tapestry of our event. We appreciate your creativity and the thought-provoking nature of your work, and we are honored to feature it on our platform.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.