Opening the old book, after long time.
Smelling the roses, I once left behind.
No more fresh, they’re are all dead.
Still reminds me about, what we shared.
Sacred thread, that tied our heart.
Now severed, by shears of hate.
Scars still looking, for balm of closure.
Yet to receive, the last letter of disclosure.
Nivedita Sikdar
Delightful nostalgia 