Village Dance

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  • Childhood

    Village Dance
    The drums are alive
    the dance has moved
    to the market place
    bare-assed children
    dance to naked drums

    I hear jungle drums
    in my head
    echoing from Inyi, that small
    village across Niger
    mother’s voice-a magic flute
    floats to me…
    like a sculptor’s knife
    shaving away the rough edges
    of my turbulent youth

    I see again
    the village damsels
    take to the centre
    their breasts arrows poised
    aimed at my infant heart
    and I die again at the vision.


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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    naddin’s Poems (8)

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