My parched lips touch the crypt furtively
The biting of the white marble
Down my spine runs shudders weirdly
My eyelids flutter in bewildered rapture
Drops of tear fall down my cheeks
Merging in the dew of a red rose hungrily
A red rose on your tomb lying silently
With trembling hands I cup the red rose
On my heart I press firmly
A token of your love,
A vestige of the unforgettable past;
The verses of my poetry
Where do they come from?
The rhythm of my song
Where does it stem from?
The fragrance of the red rose
Where does it spring from?
The words speak of your love
The rhythm speaks of your love
The red rose speaks of your love;
Of your warmth, your tenderness
Your immaculate beauty
They have woven precious history
Is this the end of our story untold?
Or the beginning of a new romance,
An eternal saga of two souls?
– Anita Bacha – Puttaparthi- India- 18 March 2012