Here is a sonnet: A witch? No, for the spell is too kind; She knows me not, yet of her I've heard If a mirage is she - a nomad is my mind, If she's the blue, limitless sky, I am but a bird. Like the Sun, warmth engulfs me through her gaze, Like the Moon on a winter night, she unseats my bearing; While in her presence, the rest is all a haze, Of all the troubles in the world, I'm uncaring. Until now, captive to her flame, The moth in my heart dares to grow wise; Overwrought, howsoever true, it must be tamed For though snow shines brighter in the Sun, it shortly dies. And so, I move forth, my desire seems to have burned; But I hear her sweet voice call my name, and I forget all that I have learned. - Armaan Kothare ** Thanks for reading my attempt at writing a Shakespearan sonnet!
by Armaan Kothare