Magical Spells

I dived into the cauldron of magical potion, drank to the full the elixir that in an instant turned me into an entranced wizard. And I saw … In the desolate seashore of secluded island, people built desire castles with dream sands, with fervent care protected the fragile niches, but the breaking waves rolled over them. The surge washed away the forlorn abodes, sheltering the insular souls of lonely people. With the magical spells I turned them into convivial people, greatly gregarious. And I saw … Behind the closed windows on sunny meadows, submerged in obscure depth of dismal darkness, people morphed into slices of moonless night, compact contours marked their bleak peripheries. Nobody could see through them, couldn’t perceive the true substance of the opaque people. With the magical spells I turned them into transparent people, utterly unadorned. And I saw … People were like frigid birds with frozen wings under the misty sky, swept by the polar wind. In the congealed hearts lapped by the Arctic sea petrified emotions drowned unexpressed. Warm embrace of empathy they couldn’t proffer, for they were condemned as cold people. With the magical spells I turned them into pleasant people, amply amiable. And I saw … People changed their lives into desolate deserts, the charm of oasis desiccated in dwindling dunes. Blazed by the flame of their fierce minds the fallen foliage of ardent passions burned, didn’t rustle with the fossilized cadence of their hearts, for they were wooden people. With magical spells I turned them into vivacious people, eternally effervescent.