The sun blazes hot, turning the scorched grassland fluid
Sun and dust and the incessant song of the cicada
Herds of great beast pass in the early morning
Now they’ve disappear melting into the heat and the vastness of the plain
Suddenly and softly the beat begins
Tap ta-tap-tap Tap Tap
Then
Beat Ba-beat-beat beat
Then
Thump tha-thump-thump thump thump.
The old mans palms, dark and calloused, pound with harnessed power
His eyes are closed, tears squeeze from the lids, soaking into his cracked, leathery face,
His gray hair falls about his face and shoulders, the ends dripping with sweat
The dust rises in a cloud as his grandson, the prince of the people, dances his prayer to
Mother Earth
The light flashes off his ebony skin, the sweat thick and glistening
All the plain holds it’s breath to listen, the gods gather round, the cicada is silent.
His feet flash to his grandfather’s rhythm their feet and hands and hearts beat as one
Thump tha-thump-thump thump thump
Faster and faster the hotter and hotter
Swirl and dip and pound and fall
Rise and dip and pound and pound
Turn and rise and jump and fall
Sun and sweet spirit
Bleeding feet, pleading hands
Thump and thump and thump
And fall
The man falls beside his grandson, both wet with sweat and blood and tears,
Grandson’s body, young and hard, his skin wet and dark, flashes as he breaths
Fast then slower then slower
Dust settles
The cicada takes up his song, beasts rise from the heat and disappear again into the
Coming darkness,
The air grows heavy and the wind blows damp,
The storm rumbles across the savanna
The rain has come, the dance and the sacrifice accepted.
