The Sandalwood Dancers
The swirling smoke it hypnotises,
rising from the burning incense.
The shapes it form before it freezes,
momentarily before resuming its dances.
Was that a ballerina I see, twirling on her pointe shoes?
She saunters, she glides, she drifts with unbridled gaiety.
One leap, it holds, a Grand jete, to cheers and applause.
Moments which usher feelings of serenity.
The ballet dancer, she retires shortly.
Step-heel, heel-step, the tap dancing duo follows.
Shuffling along in tandem, they are more than worthy,
to tread in her footsteps, like a couple of swallows.
The steps switch, the salsa morphs into a samba.
Viennese waltz, a fiery tango, I cannot keep pace.
The playful cha cha slows to a sensual rumba.
There is no music, the beats in my head fill the space.
The incense, it continues to burn filling the air.
More dancers and chancers take to their toes.
Carrying the torch with grace, with flair,
handing it over, as the show unfolds.
The swirling smoke, it slides and glide.
The quickstep now turning into a jive.
The end is nearing, the dancers start to hide.
Until the next time, I light an incense and bring them back to life.