A rose in the diary,
Bookmarking sands of time,
Perpetual waves of memories,
Rolling pearls down the eyes.
The mild aroma,
Seeping deep inside,
Scenting every moist paper,
Moist, Not just with the ink,
but with the flooded eyes.
I pricked my finger,
With the thorns of dark events,
With turning of pages of past,
Hurt my fragile heart.
I have clutched my gloomy nights,
With every spill, every stroke of pen,
My pages are only red,
With blood of my lacerated heart.
Evey alphabet, every word, every line and in every leaf of my diary,
Our moments of love lingers,
With us becoming strangers,
They scream silent uproar,
With ear-piercing and echoing noise.
My eyes tear blood droplets with every little peek on it,
My mind moltens as the memories burns me inside out,
My diary, not my friend though,
Hides my secret,
I better get burned in its fire,
As to unskin the old me.