Dervish Dancing – Whirling Thunders

Whirling-Dervishes1
When I was the silent song, her grievance, hoisted me on stasis
We marveled at songs, my girl. We waited for the train, its sound, till the swirl
Undid distance, uncoiled our lips into lose ropes and I waited for the first knot
To pattern after a violin around her, a resistant sign of religion as a melody, clouds corked in
bottles, against tides, against whirling thunders, against screeching foot-taps, we held

When I was the silent song, her grievance, hoisted me on stasis
Of ten thousand men limping towards her shrine, howling over her deepest gaze
I bought countenance, spears, courage, shrinks to strike competitors – Oh howlers
But they kept dancing, limping, desiring that they could hold her as a painting
Under such pomposity, she loved another as an artist, such awkward inclination
That rumbled below her that she might recall the warmth of my lips, a nesting maze of passion

When I was the silent song, her grievance, hoisted me on stasis
I fell on my knees when she started counting paintbrushes, its strokes. Ah fireworks, organs, the sex
Pleading sickness, eczema. I hoped to leave her body tired, or wet, depending on the sound her tongue drenched in
I wanted her thirsty or posing for boudoir. I snapped mental pictures whenever. Whenever she sighed.
To admit I craved to survive on her touch alone would make me want to taste her breath

When I was the silent song, her grievance, hoisted me on stasis
I’d have done anything to be normal, to escape the bubble or live long enough to be naïve
I arched arms, falling into her shade, sometimes bosom, erect like a baobab. I wanted all flowers blossoming
through mists, heat, dust, and mud. I wanted a name after surviving stasis, so I could see her free.

© Eddy Ongili 2016

Inspired by franice j. harris Against storm, against glib thunder

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