Roses & Thorns
Nostalgia lingers, a whisper in time,
Not just memory—but love, raw and blind.
A bygone era, etched in the soul,
Not just beauty, but a story untold.
Love is a rose, delicate yet wild,
Soft in its bloom, fierce in its trial.
Thorns that cut, yet hold you tight,
A wound, a promise, a love set alight.
Pain and laughter, entwined as one,
A battle, a shelter, a race never won.
You hurt, you shield, you rise, you fall,
Yet in the wreckage, you’ve loved through it all.
A now faint smile, the laughter like a melody,
A breeze through the blossoms, drifting so steadily.
The perfume still heavy, thick in the air,
Carrying ghosts of memories—lingering there.
Dressed in white, the butterfly basks,
Drinking the sunlight, fading the past.
Waiting and still, yet turning up bright,
A silent reminder, appearing in light.
For love is not gentle, nor painted in light,
It’s dark, intoxicating, blinding in flight.
It breaks, it binds, it pulls, it stays,
A shadow that dances through all of your days.
And so, you remember—not just the dream,
Not just the beauty, but the places between.
For the roses meant nothing without what they bore,
It was never the petals—but the thorns that meant more.
The Narratives - Mohamed Miah 
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