We have to think of beauty in our dance.
Our camels look funny and quite risky
For a fall from their humps, in climbing.
But their colours make them soft in sky
When they look up from their tall necks
They really touch high-end palm trees.
Quickly, to not get scalded in hot sand.
We have to dance our feet in blue sarees
Holding their hems in both hands at back
As indulgent camels watch in their mirth. In desert we are not our women but men.
But we dance their dance remembering
Their steps on the hot sand, as they would
Back home, in kitchens and earth-stoves
Where fire dances its tongues on breads. Our women’s eyes are of smoke and fire.
When they dance there is fire in their eyes
Melting their kohl in streams of black tears
Flowing on soft cheeks like rivers at night.