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Ananya Dutta



Ananya Dutta


Soothing A Touch Thou Conferred As Thee Observed Beneath...

Soothing A Touch Thou Conferred As Thee Observed Beneath...

2 mins

The river that flows down the hill, is never able to be a moment still, the rocks and pebbles at its edges, 

Lie as steady as the dead appears to be - dreaming perpetually of a life just lost.

There I sought myself over a bag of an empty sack, coloured somewhat with ugly a shade that seemed to be nearly fading into irresistible a departure, 

And lied along me edge, the possession of me own for never on Earth can I deny that am I a mortal at the end of every single day that does, 

For eternal a truth to hold good, culminate. 'Twas pleasant an hour I had with thee and was thine gorgeous visage - ah! So dark and gloomy wore a smile beneath thine own grey. 

As obtuse as me brain is for has the latter been an entity of no value but, inevitably ineluctable a captive of a cacophony it despises to the utmost of hatred, 

Would my mind be so defiant to abide by what would I hath to make it grasp - do I confide in thou for must hath thee observed me wandering for the entity was that nowhere to be found, 

Do I confide I thee for must hath me grins, conceiving their respective stances on me visage so abruptly, 

Summoned thy apprehension, and do I confide in thee for did the traces of me awareness makes me wonder about the beauty were thou staring at me with, 

One that not did evince the possibility that might thou loathe me but, the care had thine eyes been the bearers of. 

Was I too clasped in the hands of what I behold as me own reminiscences for hostage must I be to them? 

Poignant a presence art they known to seek in me, a place could not I scrounge for myself in all the long run hath I come traversing, 

Yet, does the paving bearing them at the end for the greeting still seem to be unfamiliar a company every time am I greeted? 

Must I tell thee for art thou the one who needs to that do I not praise such advents, and caress would they until I sought the grey had they borne - 'twas not the grey I behold in thy presence, 

'Twas the grey of a betrayal that did I not seemingly hath men predilection for, and 'tis now that am I rendered as mere a piece of insignificant a stone of graphite as they seek a way in my core. 

Beheld I thine observing me visage; mayhap, were thou looking at the tears was I unaware of...

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