Ballerina

She dances. Her hands stretch out and her fingers lock around the beam of shimmering light with beautiful ease and she catches something we can not. Her feet dance around each other, while her hands twist and turn and she with her head held high, and glinting eyes, and lips painted crystal ruby red, leaps into the air and stays up far too long and lands on her toes far too gently.

À Terre!

And here the entrée comes to a graceful end. As she rises with the grand adage, she pirouettes over and over again. Loosing herself in the freedom of her body, in the grandeur of it all. She feels it. And she remembers it. Why she started dancing in the first place on the first day.

That passion in her soul, and the ignited dreams she knows she can reach, curled beneath her bones.
She can taste the sheer exhilaration of a thousand people on her tongue, while her eyes see everything the world is and is not.
She knows that sometimes, this is all there is. This moment is all she has and ever will. She can make herself or loose it all. She knows she can spin this universe on her fingers. Thin graceful fingers that artists try to capture but fail to, even in the best of their efforts. She can bring it to her toes for one infinite moment. It is now time for the final spin.

She breathes and her eyes hold the dust of a mad glittering glint, and with as much beauty as the Moon kissing a silver river as twilight falls, and as much grace as a black swan taking flight, she lets go.

And she flies. Higher that she ever has. She breathes a different air.
À Terre.
Her feet kiss the floor and the audience rises for a thunderous applause. She can see the red velvet curtains closing. It has come to an end.  The final act is done.

After all, life is all about dancing with panache.
Is it not?

– Shabnam Mondal

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