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Poem
When I stopped Dancing
(new edit, 2022)


I stopped dancing first 
when the screeching screaming voice, 
cut into my small, happy, care-free body 
like a sharp knife cuts into warm butter, 
the accusing words freezing my bones, 
so I couldn't breathe or move
and my tiny spark got lost in my heart 
and my little candle was simply snuffed out! 
I didn't dance for many long dark years 
out of fear of icy glances 
and of stepping on someone's toes.

At 14
I started dancing again because a fierce storm 
started building inside my chest 
and I was afraid that I would explode and shatter 
and there was no one to pick up the pieces 
and put me back together again.
But it hurt, 
maybe like when a mutinous seed breaks out of it's shell, only to find a desert 
with no water and no loving gardener's hands.
But I couldn’t stop . 
And the rumble in my stomach became a scream 
that had been trapped in my throat
like a caged bird who had forgotten how to sing
and I found a crowd that was ragged but proud
with music that was jagged and loud
and a perfect fit for me
and my dance.

At 17
I stopped dancing, again 
because I had to go to another city
And the people I met
didn’t see anything good in how I moved
but only prickles and thorns 
and I seemed to pierce their defences 
with my broken points,
they felt uncomfortable, with icy stares,
or look-away glances, 
became agitated and angry
with words that were like acid
that that made my cheeks red and my skin burn, 
like: I was deformed, gross and sick
And: I didn’t know what I was doing, 
just
all wrong!
But: I only longed to somehow belong, 
con-form 
and fit my uncomfortable gesticulations
Into their nice and tidy, square boxes.
But I didn’t know how.

At 19
I started dancing again 
in secret darkness,
the blackness like a friendly warm blanket
keeping out the biting wind and icy rain.
I kept on dancing because again 
somehow, 
met others who danced like me 
and we seemed to see and understand and, 
could talk a similar language... 
through our uncontrollable 
dis-orderly bodies.

I stopped dancing again… 
after she went away,
because my feet couldn't find the ground
and my heart felt like cold lead 
and so heavy,
that I was afraid that I couldn't stop it from falling 
on to the cold hard floor
and that all would see it 
in it's naked, broken ugliness
and I didn't know how to make it pretty 
or put it back together - again.
For a while, I only danced in my head,
my body feeling like a warm, lumpy sack,
keeping me safe,
But filled with stones. other times, 
or: feeling like see through glass 
and was afraid too move much, 
in case I might shatter
maybe I should of, 
but does it really matter?
I still hadn't learnt 
how to put the pieces back together again,
does anyone?

I started dancing once 
more because there were animals moving inside of me
that I couldn't control.
An elephant; slow, heavy and graceful 
in my feet and leg.,
Rilke’s Panther, creeping back into the jungle 
of my hips and torso – silent and hungry.
And a snake menacingly uncoiling in my spine,
and when I opened my arms…
a great Buzzard soaring high and swooping down.

I gently took my fear out of the freezer
and held him quivering, close to my heart,
and as we stood and danced close to the speaker
that sent shattering, vibrating pulsating rhythms
and soft warm melodies exploding in rainbow colours
from foggy grey to grassy green, 
from muddy brown to flame red,
to the barren fields of my war scarred body,
my lonely dread started to melt with dirty tears
of long unexpressed rage, shame and despair
and the polluted river 
slowly became clearer, cleaner
washing my bones and heart 
and here I am, dancing, once more
as I am,
with the gods,
with you,
with the brave and broken ones,
with the scared ones
with the lost ones
sharing our stories, of joy, fear and pain. 

Or alone 
outside, with the trees and the grass
arms outstretched 
in the sun, snow thunder and the rain 
and I know, that I will never stop dancing
ever again.


© Sangeet Portals 2018
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