Love…a prose

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 wandering 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 proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

 

 by Wiiliam Shakespeare

Certainly, I am far away from writing so deep. But the spirits are high and night is young. This is a beautiful sonnet I read somewhere. To me it all the more means when true love shall knock my door, or may be if it already has, the courage to accept it shall be drawn with it. Lasting forever like a star in the sky or the breeze that just passed by…it shall be with me for a long while…..

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2 Responses to Love…a prose

  1. alphaqsecc says:

    Shakespeare praises the glories of lovers who survive non-fictionally with understanding. But “alter when it alteration finds.”; isn’t it too Utopian for the impatient humans on this earth??

    You protrude deep thoughts. Appreciative 🙂

    • Aashya says:

      Utopia or dream world, why shall I stop to reach the zenith and who else to stop me except me from trying. I know it’s a little too optimistic but let’s that my dreams are truly what I own. Thanks for reading. I love your comments.

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