The petals of the once-red rose are now a muddy brown, bleached of all their colour by the years of being pressed in my heavy English-to-English dictionary. They crumble the instant I try to take them in my hands.
I smell what is left of them, one last time – but they now have nothing to offer.
I hold out my palms to the cold December wind, and it gladly takes the remains, the burden of memories, off me. The crumbs scatter here and there, and soon, I can see them no more.
The last bits of you are gone. I am free once more. I hold on no longer.
Beautiful words, TGND. And it finds an echo in my thoughts too
@Sudhagee
Thank you so much, Sudha!
but hey after winter is springggggg and they will go RED again very sooon
beautiful poem loved it
@Bikram
Errr…. Bikram, how can dried-up petals that have been pressed inside a heavy book for years turn red again?
Thank you!
It is a story.
yes mam.. point noted
@Bikram
aaah so beautifully penned; nice
@Priya Sreeram
Thank you so much, Priya!
Very beautiful…. reminded me of the petals in my diary…
@Jas
Thank you, Jas!
Ah, petals in your diary, eh? What’s the story behind them? Come on, tell tell tell!
ha ha
I never held out my palm to offer them to winds cause they were given to me by my hubby when we were in college 
and they are still there in my diary 
@Jas
Awwww, how cute is that!
Your post reminded me of these lines – Ab ke hum bichde to shaayad kabhi khwaabon mein mile / Jis tarah sookhe huye phool kitaabon mein mile /
@Amit
I don’t think I have ever come across those lines. Which song are these from?
Its a Medhi Hassan Ghazal. Check this link – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCtgvtwUIU4
@Amit
Thank you!
Will give it a hear soon!