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Ananya Dutta

Others

3  

Ananya Dutta

Others

Do I Lay Me Heart For Thine Grievances Me Heart...

Do I Lay Me Heart For Thine Grievances Me Heart...

3 mins
9


Turn every page till thou reach the end, read every word before thee heed me seeking the pleasure of addressing thy advent. Am I mere a book - more than being the only bearer of lexical a beauty's display of inevitable hours of disguised a writer; am I a novel of the ages, a piece of art or, being a masterpiece as thine claims maybe for me, yet, am I not the piece of art seeking attention for hath the praises not been to satiate me desires except for once, and for hath they been the time hath I been there to seek; and am I the dryness of the maple trees that the sweetness blossoms in the colours of the spring of, every time weary a traveller is none but, to their company. Do I not know or, am I clasped deep by vague and awareness to assess thine advent so sought afore long - unfamiliar a visit to me. 

Oh me lovely visitor! hath thou not known for certainty - me seconds invested in the search of thy eyes! Why? the art they so weary to hath me bothers thine privacy for me hours in vain were the retrospections keeping me and do I conceive the pleasure of divulging to thou that art they me only pleasures am I gay dwelling with. 


The art they not mere an abode I belong to me dear for am I so in grasping ineluctable a predilection for thou... 

for am I elated to be blind to ransack else in thy love but, art the routes allowing me sight not blind to not conceive thine stare, oh, how honest failure is it - thy futility! each time am I thy muse art thou so addicted a captive to the addiction of, but, not addicted enough art thee to retreat the footsteps defining thy departure; is thy stare loyal an evidence to my queries, and does it explicate divulge thou as servile an eavesdropper, oh deny may thee but, must thou not deny that 'tis is servile - thy being the eavesdropper of the serene amongst cumbersome chaos, of the ears bereft of deafness which art, to thy rescue, undeniably kept from improvisation to hear, and of the one that, in spite of thy brain conjuring times for thou, keeps longing for thee dear... 

Do I not deny that am I dry to expound captivity for one, merely will I hath a word or, two with thee for "am I not lifeless either" is the entirety me utterance seeks; and thy time beneath me shelter is not, but defined an infinity, and so am I naked for thou to scrounge thine peace in me. 


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