Poetry
The Letter
A soul to a murderer

As I walked down the road, In a quiet, cloudy evening; A tall, dark figure appeared from nowhere: “This is for you, Mr. Cumming.”
I stood there still, the man long gone, Opened the envelope and saw the initials “Ron”. How can someone know my eke-name? “Ronald Cumming, aka, Ron — You’re a shame!”
The letter continued:
“I would be living, if not for you, You big disgrace. Now that I’m dead, People should know your real face.
A lawyer by day, killer at night, You said you loved me, Oh! How I fell for that lie, I should have known something isn’t right!
Today my body is buried, but my soul is not. I’ll destroy your fame And whatever else you got!
Sleeping with me, you be a man, When the baby came, you ran!
You knew I would sue you, You scared piece of shit; You decided you would kill me, That’s it?
Well, darkness will surround you Like your evening sky. Justice will be served! Yours, Late Eva Rye.”
© Prasanta Banerjee 2020. All Rights Reserved.
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