On Watching Teenagers Perform ‘The Tempest’
©July 24th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
Magic comes clad in many robes
And sometimes, it slips through invisibly.
The trick is to turn suddenly
And glimpse a light flickering down that unused corridor –
You see dust motes dance, alive, intentional.
Sometimes, it happens at sunset when you stand
Staring dumbstruck at a sky gone mad
While your dog tugs you homeward,
And sometimes, when you stare
Into the eyes of a rabbit in the yard,
And it looks, really looks, at you,
As you croon soft words, signaling no harm.
And sometimes, it happens
When you watch teenagers enact ‘The Tempest’
And hear Prospero speak of the sleep
Which rounds off our little lives
Or hear Caliban grieve over a dream of pleasure and freedom,
And, waking, longs to sleep again.
Magic comes on a unicycle,
When Trinculo enters, does a couple of somersaults, and juggles,
And, with a start of horror,
Chances upon Caliban’s concealed form.
Magic lies in the unlearning of grudge-holding
And the learning of forgiveness.
Magic lies in the brave new world
A man dreamed up four centuries ago,
And spun into a dream as light
As an aerial spirit.
I know I’m part of his dream,
Or perhaps, he’s part of mine.
I am that spirit whom he sets free.
And I blow his ship homew