When there was no paper or pens for writing
And not many Romani knew how to read anyway
No money for paints and brushes and
Musical instruments were reserved for the men
(Although women could make a churo, a tambourine,
Tie coins or small horse bells together or
Make kastaneta from ocean shells)
How to create when materials scarce
Even for cooking or sewing
Khelel
Dance
The creation of steps:
Move left, move right
Kick a leg high
Undulate voluptuous hips
Tapped with the tambourine
Shake the bra-less breasts
Toss the head of thick, long hair
Close the eyes and be transported
To a universe where the
Ceiling is always star-lit
Embers flare as
A long skirt whirls around,
Stirring the air
Redolent with pine
No stench of poverty or abuse or bigotry
And if by nurture or nature
This female freedom is passed along
Some form of a genetic chain
Whether living in Eastern Europe
Without water or education
Living on the road in Western Europe
Or living in American-dream homes
Slaving nine hours each day for
What passes as a wage
We women
With even a drop of Romani rat—blood—
Continue creating with our feet, hands and hips
Yes, it would be heaven to dance in the arms of a beloved
But that is not possible for many
Fiercely independent
Some of us dance for money
Some of us dance for audiences
Most importantly
Most of us dance for ourselves
Dancing in secret
A careful choreography of
Flamenco, belly dancing or
Even Jazzercize
Drawing lines and filling them in
With the finest of oils:
Scarlets, royal blues and purples
The black of night and the
Gold of the noon-time sun
The floor our canvas
The lines our charcoal
The paints our beating hearts
Of happiness in the
Joy of the dance
Alone…
© 2015 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)
poeturja 