Magician

If you see my magician,

He is fiddling with mysticism.

All the plays he does,

Are making a mark on you, people.

He’s tripping over, in the middle of the night,

Being an artist all versatile.

In the daylight he makes them cripple,

He is a demon in a bizarre atmosphere.

His magic resides in his blue eyes,

He can see a sunrise in the twilight.

I let him play with humans once,

He didn’t halt even when I begged too.

Making the same mistakes, every time,

He is an occult even when he is slumbering,

beside the window.

Riya Shah

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