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Tale of a lonely heart (Free verse) by Bhaskaryya

Nurtured betwixt eyelashes Cradled by silver moonshine Breastfed by emotions subdued A young dream gently conjures Within the bolted entrails Of my lonesome heart; Opening the prison of my soul And allowing my rusted thoughts To sear up high and once more Transcend the boundaries of free air- Elevated much higher from ground reality. And with the placid breeze drifts along The sweet aroma of your presence, Mingled with the mellow whispers Of your soothing voice calling out None but my name! Yet again, I embrace you in my longing arms And the dew drops cascading from my eyes Falls upon your tender lips As they softly touch upon mine. Those dark braids of yours Cover me within yourself Casting me away forever (or so I think) From this dreary and futile world And once more you fill up the void in my heart Created by yourself in the ‘now’ distant reality. It’s loneliness herself, I realize, Who beckons you once more to me, Though she knows she is bidding farewell To her own existence. (Till another morn!)

Goad 21-Jan-05/5:07 PM
This starts out brilliantly, then falters badly into hallmark. I'll describe what I DO like:

Nurtured betwixt eyelashes
---- Brilliant. An absolutely splendid image of a tiny feral foetus feeding on the aqueous humour of a young woman's eyeball. I would make it even more intense, add something along the lines of "the tiny pale body waxing ever stronger as the silv'ry globe shrivels"

Cradled by silver moonshine
--- ooohh, you DO use silver. CLEVER LAD. I see it. The eyeball glows with preternatural light, perhaps not shriveling at all, the inner magic ever renewing the glistening sphere, the pure light spilling out around the pale body of the feeding foetus as it...feeds

Breastfed by emotions subdued
---- INDEED!!!!! the emotions hunted down, beaten with cudgels until subdued and bundled mewling into a sack, the tip of a corner of which is cut off, and the sack, pressed heavily betwixt the iron bands of angst and desire until the pesky emotions yield their nourishing juices, is used to feed the infant when it has outgrown the eyeball. I'm THERE!

A young dream gently conjures
Within the bolted entrails
Of my lonesome heart;
---- I hear you brother. I too long ago found it necessary to bolt the entrails of my heart to a sort of scaffolding of sarcasm lest it implode in a disaster of unwonted empathy.

Opening the prison of my soul
---- here I think you begin to falter; "prison of my soul" is somewhat clichéd

And allowing my rusted thoughts
---- YES rusted, because they are ignored, disused, UNWANTED. Brilliant image.

To sear up high and once more
Transcend the boundaries of free air-
Elevated much higher from ground reality.
--- I would add lines after the first line, something along the lines of "leaving a branded trail/the long length of her luminous body"

--and then from this point I feel, really, that you trail away into a sort of hallmark-ish welter of schmalzy weltshmerz.




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