Zeenat Iqbal Hakimjee.
In the Garden, the blooming rose.
Tucked in the vase, in a pose.
The sweet fragrance, spread in the air,
Lending grace to an otherwise, room bizarre.
The rich red velvet of the petals.
The crowning glory of the green sepals.
The beauty of this natural piece,
Has at last now, withered and died;
Reminds one all the time,
Life should be lived to the brim,
In case this virtue is denied.
Writer is a poet and has written a book titled H A R M O N Y a collection of poems.