HOUDINI

No, not your chest

No, not your instrument

Yes, it was your magic wand

Striking, pushing, and pulling in my wonderland.

The four corners of the room, with the soft form on the middle

You spot your alluring words all over.

Abracadabra, your elastic, rough tongue pukes.

The mutter, it defeats the thunder

Moaning is the expertise, and yours is the rubber.

We’re performers and we’re the audience, too.

The magic tricks? Well executed.

1, 2, 3, and so on…

No, not rounds

 Mathemagic… ‘Cause you’re making me count the infinite.

Stage illusions? I don’t think we’re illusionists.

We don’t need props for this, because this isn’t cabaret magic.

We’re not into corporate magic, because we perform with nothing but skins.

We’re not gospel magicians, of course, because our performance’s dancing on fire.        

You want to try street magic? Attention whores do it.

You want to try children’s magic? Sure, we will… after 9 months of practice.

This isn’t a play or what.

When we’re doing the tricks, I believe it is micro magic.

We’re doing it one on one.  I’m clapping with your performance.

Shock magic, you’re always in it… eating my razor blade is one of your favorites.

You possess special power. You control my mind and then I surrender.

You’re a great mentalist, no wonder.

But with all the magic tricks you’ve done, and all the abracadabras I’ve performed

There is one thing that is significant in this performance…and that’s we, two, escape from the dance.

We escape from confinements and restraints.

We leave all thoughts before the show.

We leave everything that causes worry.

Tonight, we will be in our greatest glory… The tricks must be called escapalogy.

 *Editor's Choice

A literary piece for LPU Independent Sentinel