"Oh! 'Tis great grief,
Wrought by fate's mischief;
To pledge my love by some vow,
Even when Cupid hasn't strung his arrow into his bow."
An Elizabethan tragedy in four soliloquical lines.
And a sprinkle of an eye rhyme.
What its like to be a segment of salacious commodity ?
OH YOU! beautiful fragment of fabricated chimera :
enclosed ! trapped !
inside these avaricious periphery of pseudo rim..
The frangible bedizen of synthetic praxises..
What is the sentiment of being a trade off legacy ?
while the legitimate corroboration of the quid pro quo cant be found:
yet to this lethal covenant of undesired commingle you are to be bound..
For have they hold the confinement
so do they decide the Nemesis:
To succumb your esse to the dread of
your ultimating youthful ****** pulp.
And just like a marionette..
there are thee:
concurring to cede for the felicity of those progenitors..
Immolating your notions and aspirations.
vanquished by the fidelity..
Just to commence the relinquish.
Just to cease the sentient.
Just .another ...abiding flesh .
Just. Another....forlorn bride.
I am from a country where talking to a stranger is considered an immoral act meanwhile if you marry the same stranger but hand-picked by your parents then you are a virtuous woman with a right upbringing. WOW society!
A SOLEMN thing it was,
To see a woman white as can be,
And wear, under forbidden bells of melody,
Her hallowed gown of mystery.
Such a timid thing to drop a life,
Into the wedding's well;
A well so bottomless, that it shall return -
Poem about arranged marriage. Because.
GOING to him? Pen the letter!
Tell him of our glory days,
When life was better -
Before my soul was a haze.
Tell him of my sorrow,
During the Wedding grand -
Just down the road to-morrow,
Where the Doves shall land.
Tell him of the quest,
For mine own hand,
My soul at rest -
At the Wedding grand.
Tell him before that night,
To peace my pitiful plight,
Cure all of my fright -
From the Rich delight.
He shall tell thee of my Seal,
Of my chained hand,
Of the soul he shall steal -
From that wedding grand,
Where fear was on her brow;
And are you happy now?
— The End —