It's hard, so hard to cross border the pebbled paths of life but let's greet and do it.

The Roses in My Garden

My garden-roses would spread their incense-

and a day, they would be plucked 

in huge numbers from my garden,

when I lie in rest,

in their haste to 

pack and parcel me,

and my garden-roses would

lie by my forehead.

I weren't even then, visited by

whom I wanted to be there.

But many were there, the mourners

whom I didn't even have acquaintance with;

And enough tears rolled down their cheeks.

And, I wished I would wake from my bed, 

Again from my eternal sleep

And hug them tight, to calm all vex.

The changes are inevitable, and so were we.

Yet, embraced in mirth the chain of life 

Where birth and death, takes the due 

turn in right intervals, alike the

rhythmic flow of a stream, rolling over

the uneven pebbled paths 

And we hurried, as no time and tide

would wait our mysterious journey 

Taking each one of us to the mystical

Where You and I, again exists.

© Parvathy Ramachandran