South Indian Rose Picture/Illustration/Source/Internet

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 laying 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 words 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?