In the folds of this book lie the petals
Of what was once a beautiful rose.
She had plucked it from the garden, laughing,
And handed it over to me playfully,
“To remember me when I am not here”…
What had been the pride of my garden,
Lies as stiff and motionless
As the pages that have bound it now.
She who had laughed is not here,
But her laughter echoes across the empty room.
Where have they all gone, I ask myself,
That fragrant spring, the one who had laughed?
Nothing remains the same, nothing stays.
Our shadow falls and our touch remains
Even when we have gone somewhere else.
But in some corner of our battered hearts
There is always spring, where faded roses
Escape from the pages to bloom again.
There she’s always laughing, rose in hand,
Waiting for me to find myself again.
Diptesh Chandra Ghosh