While the moon hangs low
as if it’s dripped in blood
and the roar of thunder
echo through the air
and competes with the roar of a lion
the fires burn with the glow
of amber and scarlet red
and golden tones flicker in the blue
while she dances hypnotically
with the rhythm of Africa caught in her body
while se sways like a twig in the wind
and her bare feet stamp out a primitive rhythm
and her skirt flashes to and fro
while sweat runs down her naked breasts
and her eyes are almost in a feverish glow.
There is a kind of magic
while everybody in the village takes part
and clap their hands and stamp their feet
while they sing along
and an owl watches from a tree
where it is a spectator of the scene
and suddenly there is silence
when she stops her dancing
and she heaves her body back
and she lifts her arms up
as if she is reaching for the stars
and in a moment a cloud
moves in front of the moon
and the night is pitch black
while in the distance a hyena laughs
and the owl with its glowing eyes calls out
and she shivers and falls down to her knees
with the first drops of rain
and it’s as if the magic is gone
while silence lingers for long moments
and the thunder flashes nearer and nearer
and the tribe is glad as the rain has come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
woven a perfect setting and a mesmerizing ambience! great write, poet.