Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments.
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
I remember reading Shakespeare for school, I loved how one man could articulate so many different stories so dramatically and beautifully. While I appreciated philosophy and devoured poetry, Shakespeare became my go to read every time I wanted inspiration to create.
All of that is history but this sonnet was among those few that stayed. Few days back, a student complained about how pointless and unnecessary poetry is, he felt that studying it just makes it worse as anyone who’d be interested somehow wouldn’t be any longer when he’s supposed to produce an interpretation.
Jokes apart, I felt sad on how shallow lives have become. As a kid I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed poetry, I had friends and people who would talk about it as though it’s the most beautiful thing alive.
Today the poetry rarely matches its persona, the declarative tone does less to add to its mystique and to one’s pleasure. When I read sonnet 116 I was left in awe, a hangover that lasted for quiet a long time and as a result I spent half of my teens in a struggle to create something as exotic, something nearly beautiful. Reading it made me feel love, understand it, at a very young age and perhaps the reason why school and teenage didn’t have that affect on me.
Today, when I’m pretty close to being tied in a knot forever with the only person in this world I feel is worth it, I can vouch that it bears out until the end of doom.
As a child, a part of me thought love is magic, as an adult, I believed it is a myth, but as the admirer of words and all that is pretty, magic and myth, though beyond reality, aren’t necessarily unreal for me.
I’m awfully young and in love and Shakespeare is taking me all the way high .
For those of you who don’t enjoy poetry, you must read poets from an earlier time (let’s leave my recommendations for another day) and for those who write poetry, be inspired by this and create a spellbinding piece, don’t forget to tag me in it.
Till the next day,
Adios amigos 🎈