A dried rose has
More stories to share.
It is a silent reminder
Of the school crush you had,
How you could recognize her among the girls wearing same uniform,
How sharing tiffin with her..
Was your best time,
How holding each other hands during lectures..
was your favourite pastime.
It stayed with you when she moved to another town,
in form of her memories,
sweet and innocent memories.

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A broken heart has more stories to share with.

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Today my shoulder bag
gets heavier than usual.
It's short, slim and comfy.
Why do I feel the weight in double.
Was it a stone or an empty bottle.
The pain now diffused in
to my shoulder abruptly.
I reached home soon to unpack it.
And unloaded the bag upside down.


//Found a dried rose and two movie tickets
Now I see why it feels like stone//

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.poem in the caption.

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Between
the
pages
of
my
life,
that
dried
Rose
narrates
the
whole
story.

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Dried roses,
blackened and scented.
Retaining the aura
with their love and adore.
Chocolate wrappers
torn and taped.
Expressing,
sweet seasons spent.
Long-short poems,
of love and lust ;
tussle and scuffle,
were scribbled and edited.
Highlighted dates,
with markers and pens
glimpsing the memories
down the lane.
Her diary has it all,
pressed and preserved
for perpetuity and awn...

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Gripped,
by the corner.
Between pages of life.
Fragrance, spilled.
Colour, consumed.
Lifeless, immobile,
dried.
Yet, never dies.

//love in heart

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The dried petals of roses
Still intact in our book,
Between the pages
Where it all ended,
To last forever!

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In those dry and withered rose petals kept between the pages of her diary, she still feel his presence.

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That dried rose of mine have no role in this valantines day,
Where a lot of fresh roses combine together..!

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