Dance Dance Dance
I live in this world of stand by.
Where everything is waiting
The leaf awaits the wind,
The piano keys await a hand,
The phone awaits a ring.
It's almost as if the walls have stopped drawing breaths,
They stand still.
There are no clocks here,
Just blank walls;
With veins that breathe;
Expand and contract.
Yet do not change their stance.
The chair I once sat on awaits.
Just Something to happen.
I've been dancing so long,
I've consciously forgotten the steps.
The rhythm has become a part of the wait.
Yet I'm trapped in these four walls.
Is Dancing on the spot, a mere revolution?
Colors have faded with this wait.
Spring is on halt.
Winter has gone.
What remains is the curious in-between.
A stolen world.
How long can I dance in this stolen in-between?
All things equally lack luster,
Or maybe they're all adorned impeccably.
In this moment,
everything seems long overdue.
Like a child in a womb,
Almost bursting, but not quite.
What's been coming, seems delayed.
Or maybe it's trapped in the more futile steps I take
Dancing in my spot;
My heels softly tap.
One and three quarters to a Mississippi.
One to one to my heart.
Can what's meant for you pass you by?
I ask the solitary leaf.
Almost thawed, but yet unwarm.
Maybe. Maybe not.
The non committal reply of a vein without blood.
For what doesn't have blood,
Had nothing that boils with feeling.
A corner, three quarters in the middle
I look harder,
Yet movement is just beyond the periphery.
If I turn around I feel it three quarters behind me
Always to the left.
But I'm revolving,
so what is left now,
Wasn't left before
Won't be left later.
The agony of a moving trap.
I haven't blinked.
A few drops of water fall
But I dance my stead.
For Haven't you heard?
If you blink, you miss it.
My eyes peeled into the skull,
Frenzy of a furious dance
And the walls becomes a circle.
A white circle with veins,
The veins are black spots now.
My vision is steady but my eyes cry with agony.
Any minute now, it will happen.
Stay open. Please. Stay open.
And almost fulfilling my own prophecy,
I trip on myself and fall.
For my feet feel numb with the buzzing of angry bees bereft of their nectar.
All feeling lost.
But suddenly the walls are standing still.
The veins move with their breaths.
The leaf outside sways with pleasure with the wind
Swaying in the smile of maybe.
I'm no longer in my spot,
What I awaited came and left.
Two sevenths to the left now.
This left stays left.
So I choose to get up,
Swaying like the smiling leaf of maybe.
And start learning to dance again.
Inspiration credits: The novel "Dance Dance Dance" by Haruki Murakami, a beautiful write, and an incredible read! This is just one of the thoughts that stuck me when I finished it. Please read it for a mind-blowing induction into a sliver of his mind.