The Performer

She walks on to the platform and I am instantly drawn to her. I see the grime on her skin, from a hard day's work. I meet the wrinkles on her forehead. The lines are ingrained with deep struggle and strife yet they nested on her forehead so naturally. I come down to her eyes. They are like dark, dilating chocolates coated with melancholic moisture. Tears could easily touch her eyelashes, yet her concentration she seems to keep restricting her from doing so. Her eyes are like the calm before the storm, so calm and emotionless, but give it some time and they will turn into a hurricane. Her eyes are brewing like coffee. I feel as if I am frothing in curiosity as I watch passion slowly steaming out of her body. Her shoulders are rounded from ripe age yet her back remains taut as if grace itself is pushing her upwards. The slight lift of her chin conveys to us that she dances with conviction. She has not started to dance yet. All I can here are slight shuffles from her tiny feet and a miasma of murmurs from the guitarists.

Slowly, she begins to carefully clap with her frail hands. The sound is so soft and gentle. It’s almost as if she is patting powder between her palms. The irregular movements and slight hesitation before each clap is akin to the silent choking cries of a woman. So small are her actions yet so great are the tiers of tension that tie around her. She is swarming within the shadowy depths of solitude.Her expressions seem emotionless but I know that a cluster of heavy emotions are waiting to cascade out of her.

The music starts to play. A man begins to strum his guitar. A young lady begins to share her voice and I am ready to listen. The sombre notes of the song start to tug at my heart. I could not understand the lyrics yet I empathized with the buried sentiment within it. A scent of sorrow wanders around the dancer, wraps around her garments, penetrates through her skin and sinks into her soul. Her face no longer hollow has transformed into tiresome throbbing cataracts. Her feet start to move. So quick was her footwork, I could not catch what her shoes were doing.Suddenly she slowly raises one arm. Her sinews are so strained. It is as if she was drawing up a bucket full of water or pulling up ropes of rage from her skin. Her eyes are narrowed as she spews out lethal looks.

Her hand caustically hacks at the air. She now begins to gradually but brutally twist her wrists away and towards her. I feel the fury in her fingertips. It is as if she was crushing inferno in her fists. It was ironic to see how such slender features can carry so much vigour and force. Her arms are screaming in silent pain. I sense the fragility in between her overhanging bruised veins. It is a beautiful blend of surrender and control.

She begins to turn and I begin to admire her black embellished skirt. I watch it lug on the floor and slowly curl and cling towards her body. It comes closer and closer towards her as if wanting to whisper. Yet there is something unsettling about this motion. It reminds me of an eerie snake coiling and coiling, constricting her legs. Nevertheless, her stance remains strong, I watch her elegantly retaliate. I watch her lift her arm again, now creating the shape of a crescent moon. Her head is poignantly tilted upwards as if seeking help from above. She now changes her position. Her wrists begin to twist again and her stomach agonizingly contracts. It is akin to sharp knives cutting her open and she is willing to spill her heart on to the floor. She looks at me as if wanting to hurt me but I know it has nothing to do with me. She is walking around in her own world; exploring her own heart and dancing in between the chambers of her soul.

There is a shift in the music. It begins to pulse in a new way. The singer stops singing and the focus is now on the dancer’s feet. So clear and swift are the soles of her feet; like panthers hunting. She is a fire-breathing dragon stamping over hurdles. The blisters on her feet nowhere near to the blisters in her soul. She is stamping out all torrid feelings; anger, ecstasy, revenge, sorrow, denial, indulgence, and passion. She is dancing in flurry. I hear a cacophony of sounds; firecrackers in a night sky, matches striking each other, clamouring pots and pans, hammering sobs, promises breaking, dreams crushed and slaps of an angry couple. It was as if her life’s story was flashing before her feet and she was a lifelike phoenix rising from its ashes. She is now scalding in strength. What I had just witnessed was a beautiful rupture and I walked out of the room vowing to do the same to myself in the future.