They swayed and reeled intensely
Surging the pulse
And warming the heart of the Okija temple
They are the cynosure of every conscious cell.
Pittar patter, pita-pat
Chitter chatter, Chita-chat
Their beads sang
As their waists struck each cord
Their eyes smiled,
And gleamed like stars
Their hands move pari-pasu
Like unending waves.
The pains in their feet
Turns to sweetness in our eyes.
Their legs capture
The heads of everyone
In its eclectic movement
Their smiles make men,
Want to create a resonance,
Then there is the urge to caress them,
But can they be touched?
They are like hot coals
Churning out in myriads
They are too blazing,
To be passed over.
They don’t know what or who they are,
But they are aware of their essence
An essence, not near fulfilment
An essence, close to satisfaction
They know that they were born to dance,
Because nothing dances better than the sea.
