Alternative title: A Potterhead goes to watch the Cursed Child and the expected happens
I walk down the street,
and I can’t help but romanticise the night
after walking out of the spell that was
the Cursed Child.
The night —
it’s not wrapped in a starry blanket
but a stark blank canvas
onto which the buildings are painted,
the light from the windows are the stars in this city.
The Cursed Child’s music
floods through my earphones
and becomes the soundtrack to my steps.
I breathe in the cool air
as the music crescendos
and wonder why the hours long play
of the slight sadness I felt
when the cast took their final bow
The play had
enveloped the whole theatre,
not missing one nook or cranny,
in its wake of evoking
a rainbow of emotions
and unfettered reactions.
And now its music
envelops the night around me
in its spectacle.
I went to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child live almost a year ago and it was one of the most — well — magical experiences. So here is a piece of prose with line breaks about that night.
(Unrelated: I don’t know if this classifies as “poetry” – which is a whole other debate – but I like the way the line breaks look and read so I’m kind of just going with it.)
Hope you’re staying safe!
Photograph: Saakshi Gupta