The Sundance

I woke up this morning to her aura. The room was a beautiful blend of  gentle wild flowers, all subtly blended into the essence of something by Coco Chanel. She was here, yes boss!

Her fingers traced the lines of stress on my back that the ‘executive’ chairs at the office had blessed me with. Oh! the travails of modern Sapiens. I was tickling and pringling, enjoying the flirtations of my ethereal companion.

The indulgence ended as quickly as it had started; She berated my inadequacies as an effective town crier. She insulted all the tools of my trade – my Facebook gong needed tuning, my text-message forwarder could only cry as far as my pitiful pocket. She was jealous of all the girls i adapted her dispatches for and was mad that I had left some messages undelivered altogether.

She threatened to leave me!

I begged and promised to buy a waaaaaay sexier gong with autotune.

The bi-polar witch smiled and gave me ‘Sundance’ (and some money too) but you can trust me to enrich my pitiful pocket, and come up with a cheap ass scheme.

Enjoy the first note to be played on my sexy, auto-tuned, blogging gong with a blackberry app to match

SUNDANCE

The African sun dance

Don’t we dance all day?

dance to the music of pain?

bending our backs in obedience to the sun

and lifting our faces to it again

chanting morbid choruses

with our spirits low

spinning in assigned locuses

with our baggage on tow

Don’t we search for better music?

better than the jockey spins?

knowing we can only dance happy

to our own rythm

Don’t we learn new moves?

hoping to get better?

but logic is disproved

with our name on a letter

Ballet bureaucrats,

Mambo managers,

Contemporary contract staff,

Chacha civil servants,

Hip Hop hirelings,

Atilogwu artisans,

All Sundance participants

We’re all sun-dancers, you and I

entertainers from 9-5

dancing in the yellow light

till the day we die!

Do you dance?

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