The Hypnotist

The Hypnotist

They spoke of a man with an icy stare,

breaking minds with careful care,

a whisper, a watch, a single look,

and memories vanished like pages from a book.

No name he gave, no past to claim,

just a faded sign with his trade and name,

“Mind Unlocked, Souls at Peace”

but peace was brittle and memories ceased.

At first, a trick, a laughing crowd,

feet stuck fast and birds aloud,

but soon they came with hollow eyes,

forgetting faces, forgetting skies.

A groom who lost his wedding day,

a daughter whose mother slipped away,

they sipped their tea and stared through glass,

as silent hours refused to pass.

I found him there one rainy noon,

in a shop where mirrors lose their tune,

where clocks stand still and shadows fall,

where no one dares to speak at all.

He smiled like someone who knew my tale,

as if my heart had left a trail.

“You wish to forget,” he softly said,

I shook my head, “I fear what’s dead.”

“I want to remember,” was my plea,

he tilted his head and studied me.

The world went quiet, tight and thin,

I felt his pull but stood within.

“Look at the watch,” his voice was deep,

but I met his eyes and broke the sleep,

and in his stare, I saw the truth,

a man who’d lost his distant youth.

Trapped within his own design,

forgotten names and broken time,

perhaps he too had paid the cost,

and in his trade, his soul was lost.

I left that place with mind intact,

but nights are strange and clocks react,

sometimes mirrors pause and wait,

and shadows whisper past my gate.

The shop still stands in fading rain,

but when I pass, it feels the same,

the door stays closed, the air turns thin,

perhaps he waits to call me in.

Or maybe, through the passing years,

I too have vanished from his fears.

The hypnotist waits in silence still,

where time dissolves against his will,

he holds the keys to mind and dream,

but sometimes even shadows scream.