Rhythm

Published: Thursday, 24 November 2011 Written by Bernelle Titre

I stood open-mouthed in the crowd, as people pushed past me in annoyance. My eyes were glued to the stage in a trance, where a lone woman danced to the beat of booming drums, the high-pitched squeals of the accordion and the brisk notes of the "shack-shack."

Her body swayed fluidly to the rhythm, mesmerizing me. Her hips pumped ceaslessly, causing the multi-coloured skirts she wore to flutter violently. Her thick, ebony rastafarian locks, tied up with a floral bandana, trailed down her back, over her loose white blouse and billowed in the cool, Caribbean breeze. Her earthy, cinnamon scent filled my nostrils, consuming me. Her mahogany eyes closed and her moist lips parted, sampling the music, as her small, caramel feet tapped lightly on the wooden planks below her, moving in an indecipherable pattern.

I too closed my turquoise eyes and let the music and the darkness of the rhythm control me, as the notes moved my bare porcelain feet, over the damp, green grass, to their steady beat.

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