The sound of the bata drums filled my ears

            As I moved my shoulders back and forth to the rhythm           

Each beat was the start of an energetic motion

Swift movement,  swirl of hips and upper body.

Vigorous as I jerked my shoulders,

Almost getting to a squat

Jerking my shoulders

And holding on to my Aso-Oke.

The crowd was relentless.

 ‘More!’ they screamed. ‘Give us more!!’

The first dancers had stopped to cheer me.

I could see they could now hear.

But it was not always so

They had not always accepted me.

The on-lookers were mesmerised.

My dance was unusual.

I did not go with the beat

Nothing like the ballerinas,

Neither was it a pantomime.

To them, I had lost my sanity.

Yes. I lost my sanity to the beat

The beat led me, it guided me

But they didn’t accept it.

Some called it ‘Some sort of African ritual’

The rest chose to tag me ‘mentally unstable’!

But I could hear it

“The distant beat of my father’s talking drum”

They could not hear it

-“The only way out is the way through”

I could not stop dancing

Even if my dance was different.

They needed to hear my beat

And they would dance with me.

It was not easy

Convincing the crowd, sidelining the stereotype

Sweat, pain, tension,

But then they began to hear it,

The distant beat.

The show had reached its peak,

The crowd did not hold back their joy

And applause was palpable.

But then it started to rain,

A heavy downpour.

And sometimes the thunder and lightening

Drowned the sound of the distant beat.

Ant the wind tried to blow me off my feet.

Then I heard it once more..

It was faint,

But the more I danced the more it got louder

The crowed was dismayed by my relentless effort

The high and low were there to watch

Children, men and women

They honoured me, my dance and my distant beat

Then the rain stopped

And I could see the halo

My dance was over

I moved my back in union with the last rhythm

I did not hear it anymore

I could dance no more.

But I was fulfilled

I had danced the dance I was meant to dance

My dance will not be forgotten

And someone else will follow the distant beat

Because I had followed my beat till the end

But now, after everyhting

It was time to meet with the lord of the dance.

_______________________________________________________

No! I’m not dying. I just wanted to write a memoir of my life, see how it pans out and understand how I see my life and life in full spectrum. Thanks for reading.

 

 

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