The Dancer

Can we just do it all day?  To unstress? To unburden? It seems that the greatest escape from this reality  of immobility and monotony  is found in this form of art called dance. It is never grey. Never lonely. It is not remote. It is an adventure that seeks nothing but movement—movement that defies gravity, disproves logic, and breaks laws. It is the same movement that you feel when you are still.  It is the same movement that enables you to be one with the music and so be one with a single beat of happiness. Yes. Happiness. Joy. Ecstasy.

The dancer is ecstatic. The dancer feels no pain, no sorrow, no doubt, no regret. The dancer blissfully flies and reaches the clouds. The dance makes you forget things and engrosses you into a world not of fantasy but of genuineness as it brings you out from a dull, gloomy body that does not even know how to take side-steps.

Five. Six. Seven. Eight. The dancer learns real counting. What do we count in this life full of unquantifiable lies? Pretensions? What totality do we get from all the hypocrisies and insincerities? How much more do we need to subtract from the roster of human beings who know not of deceit and intimidation? How much more? It is such a waste to ponder over these questions if you do not know your counting numbers.

Timing is of essence. So is time. When you dance, the hands of the clock are gone. The only moment you get back to your mortal senses is when the music fades and starts to stop. But the thing is you can always replay. You can always select songs. You can always can. Dance is a can. Not a promise of will or may. It is a can.

Dance is the only thing in this universe that can humiliate you best. Bow to the idea that you’re always the worst dancer in front of it. You do not even have the right to stand face to face with it. But dance loves the person who dares to perform it.

The dance intimidates no one. It harms no one. It only befriends. Loves. It arouses just passion, and passion alone. It makes you feel beautiful. Wonderful even. It delights you and sees you through. It understands you. It appreciates you. It can be the only one that partners with you when all else have turned off their speakers.

So can we just do it all day?  To unstress? To unburden?

Headache is a purple thing

Headache is a purple thing
But the language is altogether different—
Barely do you see and breathe
As natural as the universe dictates
Due to the mere presence of the nameless
Or the plain buttercup;
Let’s just dance the pain away
But be not the barefooted dancer
Not the dancer without faith
For if you shall be so obstinate
The partner, protective and caring, shall be inflexible
And the dance is a loss
And it causes even more pain.


Defeating impossibility is easier
Than defeating her on the mirror
And the echo within
That dictates the spirit
So the reflection has to kill.
A murder of errant adulation!
Yet the stare holds on to the undying time
And the borrowed touches
Of icy flames
And never wants to kill.

It says sorry.
It says stay.
Yet it must be done.