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Hunting

I am thinking of things which we do not find to be of any use anymore. Broken flowerpots, cracked mirrors and the last year’s calendar. Some of them have become useless because they have either been somehow disfigured or have lost their glow and substance. The others have become useless because they don’t fit the fresh circumstances anymore. The fate of some hangs in the air. The glass cup I just sipped tea from is only useless till the time it lies on my table. Once washed, it would be of use again. Compare these poor stories to those things which perpetually maintain their relevance and insist that we keep going back to them again and again. Sadly, I can think of very few names now. I know that one day my computer will surely crash and the bed on which I sleep will break and fall into disuse. This is not to get into the philosophical question which deals with the reality and hence permanence or temporariness of things. Leave me with the option of considering the momentarily useful thing as useful and the useless as trash and go ahead.

What about people in our lives?

There are all kinds here as well, I am so sure. I no more serve any purpose and should look for better employment. The freshness with which my new owner will look at me might add a twist to the story of my life. You may choose to think that I am still all yours, I don’t mind. I am brilliant at multitasking. Something for the general reader of this post now: It’s not a love interest that I just talked to. The person spoken to in the above lines was nobody in particular. It was just anyone whom I have looked at very closely at any point and someone who considered this look of mine as the look of praise and adulation. I want to see new people and admire new smiles and faces. Alas! they have become increasingly rare! Living for me now is exploring the face for whose owner I would love to be a slave.

Wish me luck hunting!


Heart

Marlowe

The portrait supposedly of Christopher Marlowe...

The Passionate Shepherd To His Love by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove;
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks;
By shallow rivers to whose falls,
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flower, and a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds’ swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.