I grew roses in my garden.
Red, were its colour.
Silky, were it to touch.
Brighter, it looked;
in the sunlight.
Thick green stem,
too thorny to love;
Yet! love to grow that beauty.
The green leaves gave it ;
some softer look!
small and big,
they stood proudly in my garden;
set in the small balcony.
Far away from my village,
in a city were the days pass faster;
I grew these beautiful roses to remember my past!
wonderful days, my childhood days;
which I hold in the balcony now.
Water, I do;
and watch them too.
I won't pick them,
it will die.
What good it do if I pick them?
They will no longer look fresh and healthy!
Won't it die and become dry the next day?
How can I kill the memories of my sweet childhood!
And if I don't pick them,
they will smile brighter ;
every morning when I wake up,
a little more brighter at me!
