A/N: Jai Sri Hari! Great to see you here, greater to know that you intend to read my post 🙃 Your constant love and support means so much to me, beyond what words can convey, This post of mine is slightly different from the others- unlike most of my stories and poems, this is both- a rhyme that conveys a story. I will warn you, though, it is a bit long. I considered splitting it into two given its length, however, since the challenge required one post to be published, Voila! I sincerely hope it is worth your time. Meet you at the end!

Once in a solemn land lived a little girl

A little girl who lived all her life in a dance attire.

Be it swollen feet or an aching back

She’d dance even in circumstances dire.

For it was what set her free

It was what set her apart

Apart from the hundred souls shedding tears

Who would scream at her, “Bless her little heart!”

Her golden anklets would tinkle across the dusty wooden floors

Singing a sweet and gentle, moving lullaby

That set to sleep even Indra himself

While she’d dance like a tiny apsara- only more coy and shy.

Yet one day, the little girl looked uncomfortable

As her feet scurried across the dance floor

She didn’t like that anxious feeling while she danced

And so she turned and ran out the door.

She did dance after that in merry amusement

But a fear of judgement tugging at her little heart

And one day when someone laughed at her dance

From dancing she set herself apart.

It was only years after in a dancing competition at her little school

Did she look up and decided to give it a try

She smiled amongst her sweet friends who wished for her to come

To come and in the lap of dancing once more lie.

She refused to try anklets’ classical dance though

It had been years after all.

So she tried herself to western music beats-

And time and nervousness she did stall.

She no longer felt that she could dance

And envy filled her little face

As she watched thin and tall girls dance and laugh

Without of a mistake any trace.

She looked into the reflection on a window

She felt fat and small.

Her hands seemed not to move in ecstasy

Her feet didn’t seem to want to give their all.

She tried to get out of it,

But hush, here came her row’s chance, it was too late,

And her group flexed out the moves that her teacher gave

Imagine her surprise when her teacher said that they did great.

The little girl sat with a smile so wide

It lightened her sweet little rosy cheeks

And so did the little girl laugh imagining herself dancing

With her friends for the next few weeks.

But it was the next day that broke her

For when she was called upon to dance solo and alone

The little girl was overcome by anxiety

She had no dancing skills- what was she to hone?

Her hands and feet tangled themselves

And it was fair to call her dance a mess.

Imagine her state when the teacher asked

If she had not been selected but was still here, to confess.

The little girl’s eyes filled with tears,

And she withdrew from the where she was mistaken contest.

For what was a dancing to her anymore,

When she was bad at it while amazing were the rest?

She tried to dance after that, that little girl

But she hated it, it was to no avail.

But years after, one day with her sister in the dark

Her dancing skills picked up, although old and frail.

She still knew not what to do with her hands

And reluctant and unsure to move were her feet

But that day, the girl danced in the dark

Her body swaying to the musical beat.

The little girl still doesn’t like dancing though she can do it

She chooses to let her pen dance for her instead

And let me tell you all a little secret, she’s a writer

And the little girl and I shared the same little head.

People ask me now why I dance not

I just laugh and turn and smile away

For I too dance to the tunes of life

To her hard and soft beats, my soul does sway.

Forever more.

And so does yours,

For it is what set us us free-

Dancing, it sets us free.

A/N: This is by far the one and only personal post I’ve shared here, even if it is nothing compared to others, I too wanted to share an incident that made me feel free. For years, I envied dancers and their beautiful abilities, but now I can only admire them for it, for I have not much skill in it myself. The fact is, we all stand upon the stage of the world, each dancing with in own, unique style. I too dance, but let my pen do it for me. Your love, it dances across icebergs in Antarctica, sand dunes of the Sahara, a starry midnight sky, and shoots itself like an arrow into my heart. For your love, it is free.

And thanks to Him, so am I. So are you. So is this world, pulling upon a string of freedom that keeps it going.

Stay Happy Forever!

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Hemanya Vashishtha

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