The Spell


The Spell

Here he comes
Formally dressed
A violin in the hand
And a smile on the face.

Seats himself, as he does;
Amidst the loud applauses—
People cheer him up
He hears, smiles but replies not.

As the show begins
The violin is played
Spirits are lifted, solaced
And silence abides the place.

Tunes, played one by one
A note comes after the other
Three hours pass thus,
But the enchanted lot
Know it not.

Hypnotized, as if they were
Lost in a deep trance,
Listened to the soulful music
Peacefully; disturbed neither—
By the time that passed.

He stopped at the end,
Woke up from his seat
Bowed his head
But no claps heard
The unknown magic
Had killed them all.

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