Day 135: Dance

Of many things that I cannot do, dancing is one of them. Though I would like to believe that it is a trait that like many other can be learnt easily, I believe I am neither suited nor qualified to make such a tall claim. This diary of poetry, this monologue with myself seems incomplete without stating the obvious that some things in life are appreciated almost as though the music I cannot write, the dance that I cannot dance and the things I cannot change. In short bursts of whatever may come your way however this elusive movement of silhouettes on a stage, in an apartment building or between the lines of a painting, much of it was left to second nature. For now I write to the waltz that needs no language, inspired by the coming home of a few and faded memories too

Dance
Even though we write poetry about memories we store
Or things that come together and as a story we wrote
Or even better a song with lyrics but no sound
That which is but seen by the eyes and but heard out loud

In the shallow rhythm that breathed through the night
We are captured by a music that the soul refuses to fight
For the rest of the world, just like me that cannot dance
I am delighted to have given it a shot, at times I took a chance.

For those who have moved around like lyrics of songs & poetry
Or simply flown with the music and the beats that creates symphony
I have seen them fly with no wings, I have seen them hold each other close
Both dance and music that filled the night in whatever recital they chose

Some will dance behind closed doors, on the road side curb but a few
Some will even choose to learn , and some will make it too
For whatever fancies your heart tonight , for whatever reasons you dance,
In whatever language you feel the flow, just take a bow and a chance

Those who flow into the night, like gentle souls that disappear
And as I write another chapter to a book, this is earmarked away for years.