The magician

I turned 40 last month. It was a weird and wonderful feeling.
Weird because, as a kid, 40 meant an age when you start feeling/acting old. An age where you start to think more about endings than beginnings. Nothing of that sort happened, I am feeling exactly the opposite: younger than ever, more in command and control of my emotions. Just a bit more sorted in the head.
Wonderful because I’m experiencing a phase of “experienced youth”. 40 has turned me into a magician: I am reliving my youth without the insecurities and superficialities.

The past plays tricks on me,
Letting out of its hat,
Just the things I want to see.

Making me believe,
I was cut into half,
When, in fact,
The mirror was playing its

Concealing from Now,
sometimes pain, oftentimes pleasure,
Giving them a different life
and different names altogether.

Unconvinced of my role
I blame it on destiny,
Written by a cruel monster,
Pleasures too few,
And griefs too many.

But the pen is with me,
So is the paper,
I am the magician,
Neither my past,
Not my present,
Not even my future.

©Pavitra Baxi 2021

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