nautch girl
Isadora Duncan
would dance
for them all...
gyrating in a sheer sari
humming ragas as a Delhi street girl
all of her essence nakedly on display
And they would bring
white flowers,
lilies, flowers
one brings
to a funeral...
While she fluttered out of reach
like some jellyfish her sinuous limbs undulating like tentacles,
covered in diaphanous veils
a glimpse of shape shown
submissive to their erotic dreams...
Like some Hindi goddess
all her many arms beckoning tantatalizingly
Teasing all of them
with shared secrets.
And after encore moments, chauffered away always
arranging a long white scarf to float
behind her
in an open touring car;
As carefree as a momentary breeze.
A pose to draw attention utterly chique.
Top down so her public could see her exposed personnae,
which rivalled her staged tableaus.
Never imagining
that whispy white tentacle
would wrap around an axel anchor,
strangling current movement.
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