The Corpse of a Woman


Afsana Rahman


Ahh… yes. Come in. Have a seat if you want to

Or you may have a look at my passion.

Do you know what the collage on that wall means?

Oh no! No, I haven’t breathed air on most of those places.

But yes, I have roamed around all of these landscapes

And many more-  in my dreams.


It’s like heaven when daisies kiss the earth quietly,

Morning-star twinkling in the dark blue sky brightly.

I’ve been to Amazons and drunk the deep forest air,

And Himalayas, taught me humbleness and to be fair.

All the places that you see my friend

Are the destinations that I have dreamt to explore.


My passion? Yes you can say it is what I long for-

To visit new places. Traveling is my passion indeed.

I went to many cities. I watched twelve different sunsets

While I wish to devour hundred more sunrises.

If not in one lifetime then I demand of six more.

If one cannot have their wish fulfilled then what is life for?


Oh dear old fellow, have patience! Just bear with me?

At the end of our meeting you will know, I assure you,

Whose Funeral it is that you are attending.

You see dear friend, I’ve never asked for anything-

I was a free spirit with only one desire of being a bird,

But my wish was unseen and to be quiet, I was told.


I thought I will be fine and free

After his appearance in my life

As he was the one who promised to take me

To Amazons, to Arctic, to the Nordic fjords.

If only I knew how meaningless those promises were!

If only I knew how badly they will break my wings!


She wanted to sing a rare song, where the world will be astonished,

Everyone believes but wrongly so, that all marriages bring respect indefinite.

Still like the quietest summer night, she dreams of him,

The soul mate who understands and stands beside in all bitterness.

Alas, a bird became a soulless statue, a showpiece to be held

In a cage of glass, broken wings lying just beside.


My dearest friend, I know, now you know what it is-

You have been bestowed with the knowledge of the murderous weapon-

The tongue that produces honey can also squirt poison.

This is the place where you witness all at once…

A death of passion, a murder of desire and a funeral of feelings!

Now you, my friend, are looking at a corpse of a WOMAN!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.