Dead Roses

What am I to do with this bunch of whithered roses?
Should I give them to the wind for it to blow them away?
Should I bury them in the soil?
Should I give them back to Love?
It may keep them in the temple of time,
and oblivion may show some mercy and take them with him,
for though they are whithered,
they burden my heart heavily.

A bunch of whithered roses makes the heart beg for mercy,
for their thorns are still sharp,
piercing the heart, making it bleed,
submerging it in sorrow,
pervaiding it with its hues of dark lamentations.

Oh the eras of time have played their trick on me,
abandoning me in what seems an endless lake of mournful sorrow,
leaving me trade my path with pain in heart,
with wilting roses in hands,
with a dead life to walk ceaselessly.

More roses to carry,
more of a heavy burden to keep going,
and thus, I beg to oblivion to take them away,
and plant them in its garden,
and make me forget,
I beg the wind to blow them away to unmemorable places,
I beg time to bury them in the deepest soils of eras to be forgotten,
I beg the rain to wash them away.

What am I to do with a bunch of dead roses that burden my heart,
and with their thorns that make my heart bleed?

Vilnius - Lithuania
2.1.12
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