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Poetry: Thrill of African Dance

Updated on April 8, 2016

African Dance

The young African girl

Beautiful and slender

Whirled around as

A feather borne by the wind

Her waist-beads rumbling to

The rhythm of her movement

She flung back her head

Her behind tossed,

Her arms graceful

Patterns described

And movement of legs

That of a cyclist

In a marathon race


She then moved as if

She were a leaf

Borne by a rushing stream.

And sweat trickled down

Her neck, her back

Between her breasts.

The music so melodious

Was that even

Stones shook their heads

To the rhythm.

The crowd were clapping

Whistling, screaming,

Stamping the floor, swaying

Like a cornfield in a storm.

The sound of the flute

Woke the dead.

The girl’s movement

So fluid was, that the

Crowd was a sea of

Reaching hands as she

Moved around the stage the

Cloud clapped and tears

Of excitement rolled down

Its face.

Dogs laughed

The stars blinked their

Eyes in wonderment

To the African dance.

Breath tore into her chest and

Blood thundered in her ears

As she bowed to the

Tempest of applause.


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