The Dead Rose Poem by Apoorva Kapur

On the day of the New Year ’s Eve,
Sparkling lights from the heaven,
Circling around the dead rose
It lay whittled in my open dairy
With splash of ink on one of its petals,
And withered sepals below,
It raises its head and starts to flow,
It drifted towards the sparkles
It flew towards the sky,
The memory of splendid love,
And the souvenir of broken hearts,
The dead rose at its last stand,
Blossoms, Blossoms for the last time
Just when the last petal was about to fall,
In all its glory and beauty,
Disappeared into the light
In the classic tales of eternal love,
The dead rose’s beauty was from the rest, above.