Murderer

I saw you at 3.00 in the midnight,

in your casual dress and old floaters,

talking to that group.

Your hair looked dry, so did your hands.

Sans any concern. Sans any care.

You just stood there. Besides.

A polythene in hand, is that an explosive?

To rip hearts apart with red splash?

I do not know those who talk to you.

I do not know those who will die.

I just know about myself,

who died last year.

But I know why you murdered me.
It's the same reason I murder people.
Perhaps it isn't what I see.
Perhaps it is just an involuntary suicide. 
So I die everyday.
Everyday people die.