I met her at the edge of my day one
She is a combination of a flower and a pearl
An ubiquitous rose every fourteenth of February
And a gem enthralling everyone’s attention

At least that’s what I thought

Her once luminous radiance is now covered with grime
Slowly. . . trying to shine for others but still losing the light
she became a reflection of sunshine in eyes full of fears
A drop of her tears could drown you in a whirlwind of sorrow

I told her she’s as bright as the sun in summer
She said, only if winter can stay with summer
I said, stopped with the nonsense in your head
She responded, How can I when I’m dead as the
Memories of Titanic’s fame?

She was once a combination of a flower and a pearl.
Now, a wilt rose left dancing on a spider’s web
A pearl buried in treasure box dealing with
Life’s conundrum of grief and warmth
Of death and birth.