Feast of Roses

The Dried Flower

The color had faded
the memory did not
Between those old pages
Found our first flower


First Rose

"Ten rupees" he demand
Pleaded "Make it five?"
He smiled. He realised
Love--my only wealth




Under the Pillow

Placed under the pillow
White rose I picked
The thorn hurt first
Painted the rose, red


Note: These are short writes called Jorios. Four lines and each line contains four words.
It must capture a moment. None of the lines must rhyme.

This is my first attempt.