by Asim Rafiq Mulla
Hidden not is the key to the murder,
Your eyes cannot see.
He who has the vision to look further,
shall solve the mystery.
The dead lay on the floor,
Far away from the door,
No blood, no weapon, no fingerprints, the room bore,
Crime committed abiding the great lore.
“I was at the market”, the driver said.
“I was painting”, said the girl.
Her mom was baking sweet bread.
Amidst these statements did confusion swirl
The driver had a strong alibi; he was ruled out.
“Mom and her girl”, thought the Feeby, “were in the doubt.”
What reason could a girl have, to commit such a gore?
She was about four and innocence did she wore.
Alas, it should be the mother who claimed to bake the bread.
Alas, it must be the mother who carried a mark of dread.
“No”, she said when confronted, “I know nothing about the dead.
Please believe my word; I was busy with my bread.”
Feeby then turned to the girl.
She looked like the only pearl.
He knew the futility of the session,
still he asked her the same question.
The girl went silent, the fretness grew
Was she the one to bite? Lord only knew.
At length the girl nodded with an evil smirk,
She agreed of her involvement in the dirty work.
For she was but a child; how far could she lie?
“Why?” asked everyone standing there by.
“Yes, I did it”, she began,
“He scared me to death
Away from him I ran.
He scared me to death,
I hated his breath.
And finally I decided to end the story;
So what if my actions bring down my glory?
I would be free from him at least
Trust me; he was a big bad beast.”
“Yes he was bad, but I am your dad”, said Feeby to her daughter.
“Is this what I have thought you? To give in to hatred and slaughter?
Yes he was a beast, he took you for a feast,
But you should have taken a different approach.
You should not have killed the poor cockroach.”
Last updated October 28, 2015