Black Roses

She turned eight the day she died,
I still reminisce how I had cried,
How when I apprehended I won’t see her anymore,
My heart distressed me to the core.
But time nurses lacerations and so did it,
And light again in our lives were lit.
People unremembered her, oh, too soon,
For when we prayed in the light of the moon,
No one asked for her to rest in peace,
Except me, who said, “Bring her back, please”.

The garden where she frolicked with me,
The roses there metamorphosed from yellow to black,
And when I plucked one, it crumbled down,
As a paper crumbles down when burnt to ash.
My heart borne her, and it will do,
Till when, till where, I do not know,
Perpetually will last what existed for sometime,
Though a thousand others may come and go.
When tonight I pray that she be safe,
Wherever she is, however she is,
I mean to be unpretentious, and I promise her,
That I’ll be with her soon, wherever she is.

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