Magic hides in moments

An illusionary act

The dusting of its remnants

Gypsum-white on charcoal-black

Magic steals the sunlight

Leaving rainbow’s pot of gold

Reflecting silver starlight

From the eyes beauty beholds

Teller of a mystery

Whose story never ends

And children not yet blind to see

Its disappearing Penn

from the snow

drifting to the ground

from your smile

and your unrestrained laugh

from the sound of my footsteps

wandering through the woods

from the warmth of the fire

crackling in the hearth

magic is every moment

if you dare to find it

Where does Magic come from?

You ask.

Meaning you don’t know

Anything.

Magic is.

Magic was.

Magic will be.

The question you mean to ask is

Where do people come from?

People are the interlopers

Trespassing in a world they don’t belong to,

Bulldozing over Ancient mysteries

With blindness and arrogance

And ignorance.

Dismissing Magic as something for children,

Made up by mothers

And withered old women.

But Magic will not be dismissed.

Magic will not disappear.

Magic will reign once more.

And the wonders of the universe will become clear again

As they are now

To those with Magic eyes.

Magic is in the wonder.

It's like stardust falling gently on the eyes,

not to blind but to awaken.

Magic comes from the pebble stones and wishing wells, pennies thrown into future hopes and tiny waves leading to giant oceans. It created The Wizard of Oz and Judy Garland, getting Dorothy home with three clicks of the heels and a longing. Sometimes magic is a Mary Poppins unbrella in the rain when all I need to do is believe the sun will shine again. If there's ever a voice to be heard in the world, magic is like a quiet friend that taps me on the shoulder when I least expect it. I turn around to see who is there and I'm face-to-face with the the very one I've needed to see that day. I notice these coincidences arrive when I've tripped over time and stumbled on a feeling that comes. The older days of wonderous joy comes to mind and the little girl within me takes a hold of my hand. We walk together and share our magical dreams.

Magic is being created every day,

every hour,

every second,

every moment.

Everything you see from a little dust mite

to as big as a huge mountain,

is magic.

Magic is happiness,

Magic is sorrow,

Magic is love,

Magic is Hate,

If you really believe, magic is everywhere,

and you don’t have to look far,

just look in the mirror and you would see

MAGIC.

- Reet Sapra