The Magician & The Musician


“There are times when the truth can only show you an illusion.” 
(Lionel Suggs)

Music is the purest form of magic. Magic is the deepest essence of music. The romance between the two is legendary. While music is our refuge, magic becomes our resurrection. There is no flow sleeker than music and no law stronger than magic. Both have survived the rise and decline of countless civilizations… both are unbound by time and space, or atoms and cells… both defining life and existence, uniquely and fervently.


The truest lie is magic, the loudest silence is music.
A magician and a musician, both estranged by destiny and separated by distance, feel connected to each other through the invocation of their respective spells – magic and music. A series of Haikus and two cinematically emotive instrumentals attempting to create such an atmosphere of invocation:

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Remnants of Remembrance


“…when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.”
(Jane Austen)


Scars are but evidence of life. Evidence of
choices to be learned from, evidence of wounds, wounds inflicted by memories. Memories are like bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces. Sometimes the scars remind you that you survived; sometimes they tell you that you have healed. Scars fade with time. And the ones that never go away, well, they build character, maturity, and caution.


Memories leave a light in the eyes, just as plain as scars.
 Versification of one such estranged and dyspnoeic moment, when painful memories and a torturous migraine decided to waltz in unison, presented in the form of a set of Haikus and two poignant melodies:

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Whispers at Moonrise


“Heaven, envious of our joys, is waxen pale;
And when we whisper, then the stars fall down
To be partakers of our honey talk.”
(Christopher Marlowe, Dido, Queen of Carthage)

Some words are never spoken, but felt. Some feelings are never sensed, until stirred.

One cannot measure the mutual affection of two human beings by the number of words they exchange, but by the number of whispers they share. If whispers were the lyrics, silence was the music… making time spent together a melody that could be replayed over and over without getting stale.

The heart is not an organ, but a whisper in your soul. Two lovers, from two different realms of time, exchange glimpses of each other, through silent songs at every moonrise. A series of Haikus and two soulful tunes fictionalising a surreal romance:

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