Poetry: Thrill of African Dance
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
Surpassed.
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.