Oh how the magic unfolds as the wood speaks of the pains your feet take, how the air sparkles with the dust of your sweat, how my eyes are blinded by the light of your arms, and suddenly the ebony glimpses and silhouettes take me to the world unknown. You are my hero, my villain, my weed in the grass and my tree on the island. You are the star shaped clouds in my summer sky, and the sails to my ship. I hear the roars of your agony and the sighs of your footloose thoughts that wander the streets of your empty head. I see the words floating and making perfect scenes of your story, I hear the music of your lines. What I see is a world from my seat, so clear that I become you, I feel the pain, I feel the walls becoming my oblivion and I gaze onto the spectators as though they are one.
I make the red curtains a symbol of my play pretend, and the white light my complexion, I make the dais my castle and the wood my feast. I don’t sit and see the theatre, I feel the theatre, because you, you make me a believer!
Anjali is an engineering student with a passion for writing and theatre.
Image Source: Stagecraft Archives
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