If Shakespeare were here,
Would he go insane?
Would he run and utter Anne`s name?
Would he stop if he heard a scream,
Like the one from Juliet’s dream?
Would he walk past a star-lit parade,
Where lovers quarreled and marchers hit the barrel?
Would he stop if he saw love,
Blossoming on unspoken trees above?
Would he burn his heart,
To write once more before the hurting moon could start?
Would he tear through façades and debris,
To face time again before the end of noon?
Would he flinch at the silence
Of those who’ve said nothing since late afternoon?
Would he walk over the love juice,
Left by Puck after they argued?
Would he mind Galileo`s words,
When he didn`t mention the gravitational pull of love?
Would he cry, when people would say
"You lied," to their lovers—surprised.
If Shakespeare were here,
He would be despaired.
Love is not the same; none of it is tamed.
I`d sit with him under the tree, while Newton discovered gravity.
I`d ask him how he was—he’d drop the quill,
Set fire to the page, his voice gone still:
"I’m fine. Against my will."
Poet: A student of class nine of Oxford international English school, Uttara, Dhaka.
