The trick-master and his trick

Long time ago, 

When the oceans were of a safe level,

When the greenness of the trees overshadowed the concrete of the buildings, 

When the air we breathed was, in fact, air we breathed and not a toxic mixture of many, 

There lived a trickster who was famous for one of his many tricks. 

Lovingly referred to as Mr Trick, 

He preferred a name that did a one above, Trick-Master. 

He lived under a grassy hill, 

Away from most of the population, 

But his jovial self could not stay away from the crowd for long; 

Because as night fell,

His legs did, too; his hands tinkled, for 

The result of his daily trick lit a fire in him such that it must, it should, be satiated immediately. 

Every evening he would take a walk around the market,

People would greet him, scream a warning, “Mr Trick is here!”

And hide, they would, but only from his gaze. 

His gaze held the power of the trick. 

Look at them directly and lo! 

You’ve been tricked. 

Needless to say, he had one many victims who would fall, 

And the results, oh!, he’d recall, 

Before his eyes would shut to sleep. 

The results were satisfying 

Tricking became his drug 

It didn’t matter the consequences of his tricks

Because that wasn’t in his vicinity. 

Its most recent victim was me. 

It happened so, I was new to town, 

I greeted him with pleasure, 

And then I walked around. 

Slowly, a pink shade started shadowing me,

Suddenly, butterflies were flying around, 

And behold, I saw her across the market, and in that moment, I was tricked. 

Of course, this realisation was much too far for me.

I gave up all control of my mind and body; 

A flower in hand and a couplet in mind, 

I approached her and, 

She disappeared into the crowd. 

Our intent gaze, the feeling of her being, the smiles that crept up and the joy I felt, 

Died like an extinguished candlelight. The death 

Of these feelings stung harder than a wasp’s sting, 

Pained worse than a bullet wound and 

Brought a sorrow so deep, 

It would replicate the rising oceans of the morrow. 

In the bedroom where I lay, 

Sick and tired, 

The city folks who tended to me in my sorry state, 

Finally told me, 

About the trick-master and his trick.

I was awestruck by this information, 

I didn’t know what to do, 

Till I was fine again. 

***

I lived there for years and years 

But I was a foolish one and so 

I became the trickster’s favourite victim.  

Every month at the market he would show,

Bump into me “accidentally” and play his trick on me. 

I was an easy target, what can I say? 

Love doesn’t bite as hard with the others, 

It would be hims and hers and thems, it didn’t matter 

I drowned in it every time 

And the trickster made gallons out of my show. 

***

Weak and wretched,

Sorrowful and tiresome, 

I have given up on an escape

But only filled with wonder,

Of a consequence that contrasts this. Then, 

I think will 

The trickster be beaten;

Because there’s nothing stronger than love added. 

Till then I will suffer in wonder. 

I am an example 

Of the trick-master’s best trick played, 

When the world claps, 

And the high creeps, 

Who is she, who am I, a simpleton, 

To be pardoned by thee?