Fantasy
The pianist’s hands like shadows,
Flash across the keys,
Merging black and white together,
Until the keyboard turns to grey.
Writhing to the rhythm,
Forever gaining speed,
With a mind all of their own,
Telling of an urgent need.
Notes and unseen chords,
Are translated by the dancer.
She moves as in response
To a question, she the answer.
Passing stools and tables,
Gliding, soaring, bursting,
In a web of silver footwork,
Like an insect fighting to be free.
The rush and the momentum,
Climb to a crescendo.
Now the pianist’s eyes half close,
As he strains to match the pace,
No longer telling them a story,
But competing in a race.
Colour, sound and motion,
Unite to conquer time and space.
All eyes are held upon her,
As she challenges onlookers,
To tear their gaze away.
Leading now the frantic music,
In a dance that’s all her own,
She engages and controls the floor,
But you quietly turn away,
Because you’ve seen it all before.
There is no point in shouting,
Above the deafening roar,
They will never hear you,
Their ears and eyes enraptured,
By the fantasy explained,
In a dance as yet unnamed.
A pounding, haunting inspiration,
Of a lost enchanted strain.
Suddenly the dancer stops,
And bows her lovely head.
Spectators slowly move away,
They drag their weary feet,
As though at end of day.
Piano lid is closed as if now fed.
Not a single word is spoken,
Hush – hush – its all been said.
A gentle silence fills the room,
Like the sound of steady rain,
As you gaze upon the stillness,
And your mind is quiet again.
Could it have been imagined,
All you thought you’d seen?
It’s impossible to explain,
If asked where you have been.