Terpsichorean — Verse I Poem by Parisha Shukla

The trumpet's ta-ra-ra~
The drums thrusting heavy—
Under the spotlight that barely reveals the story.
In the end, it was meant to Feel.

The ballerina, like an angel—
Performing like Scarlett Dragna,
With the fire of emotions bleeding through her moves,
Still feeling the silent coldness.
In the end, it was meant to See.

Eyes closed of the one who performs,
Eyes open of the one who glances—
It wasn't enormous, just two or three,
Yet it touched millions of cells.
In the end, it was meant to Touch.

The performance's done—
Barely a clap, a noise, or a sight.
A storm taking over the set, a tumult—
Reflections multiplying into a mirrored multitude.
In the end, it was meant to Hear.

Lastly, the Coryphée bowed down—
Eyes closed, emotions flowing through her sweaty clothes.
The room was all empty.
The audience were the seats.
In the end, it was meant to Stay.