I crouched low by the burning fires
And listened to a most strange tongue.
On those dark faces I see desires
And dreams that back then, were dung…
A few dung chunks were added still
After the midnight hour struck
And skirts unfurled in darkest chill
Deciding who stays here for luck.
The caravan needs to be moved,
All hatred for them needs to stop,
They’ve sold the pots and proved
Their mastery outside a shop…
Worn fiddles take up plaintive notes
And braided hairs shake with coins.
Fires are dancing and anecdotes
Warm up insides and eager loins.
I watch the Little Light slowly unfold,
Her red skirts twirling at such pace
And black eyes snapping darkly bold
She dares all to dance… embrace
The freedom that is promised them
In near futures, a rainbow wide!
Her visions high, she holds the gem
Inside her heart, all fears aside…