Bhaskar Roy Barman
Once in my childhood I watched mesmerized a magician
magic everything away from before my eyes
and thought he had descended, endowed with supernatural power,
from a fairyland where illusions reigned supreme
to transport us into the world of illusions.
I got thrilled at the flying of a pigeon away
from under his hat
and at the emerging of a hare out from inside his pocket.
I got so tranced at the magicians acts of pouring forth
illusion after illusion of the magic world,
waving his magic wand.
I forgot the time passing imperceptibly by.
I found myself jerked to the harsh reality
only when the magician goodbyed us
and strode away from the stage.
Many years had passed since then
and the magician had faded into oblivion.
One day, when sauntering in a park,
When the sun was ready to dip down the western horizon,
I bumped into that magician, now an old man
staring across the park at the rows of trees.
I walked to him and asked:
Were you not that magician
who used to have people thrill to his magic feats?
Yes, I were, the old man replied, smiling a rueful smile.
Someone stole my magic wand
and now I ceased to be a magician.
