The Dance Poem by Birjais Zahira

Her skin, honey colored
Glazed with sun, lifting
My trembling hands to hold
Her body lying underneath
She was somehow my unwanted desire
The glory alone cannot be blamed,
Yet some lame scent gave away
The dancing figure, the ghostly
Outline of her body in vain,
In distress, lost in me, and her
Silhouette gown pierced under the shadows
Of a half lit moon, she dances and collapses
Astonishes me in pain, she loves
The liquor doomed face of hers,
Shining in heat space, and burning
The agonies of tomorrow in forgetful freight.
She captures her magic, by lifting
The dress up on her knees,
The bodice lined robe, the feet
Close to the naked battle,
She moves around, shows her scars
While some she hides, yet they
Seem to be there when she dances
The last leap as the unknown apprentice.