Presenting-

In that cavernous murk, it could have been a reticent ghost. But you feel his breath and see his rose skin, and know he is but a form.

His shoulder bones shift sides and his alight eyes reveal themselves with command. You cannot move. You don’t want to move. There was another world in them- a mirror image of the present-, as unreal as reality, and as real as disregarded truth. You watch him lift his pupils up with a controlled force. All the worlds disappear in a blink and tranquilly he presents himself.

He tweaks a toe and you hear water. He lets some fall off his fingers as he levitates.

He is a looming flower.

***

He plucks a single sea from the sky and is abruptly transformed. He is carrying two souls and salt. The very next moment, he is a fluid torrent of fire. You witness a body of contrasts. He portrays a preview of how a pauper exercises his powers. And in a split second he blasts into himself.

He is gold.

***

You see a silhouette against red, as the drum rolls. He is the resident God.

In disguise, he attends a merchant. He sweeps the floor, and gets stale food. He burns ill habits, and receives foul words. He draws fraud riches, and gets a bitter poison. A thousand single eyes stare back at the trader before he could spot the moon on the boy’s head.

He dies, and revives as an immortal.

***

He owns himself. But if he is to be experienced, he’s your personal composition. He is ferocious, and follows a circle. He tells a million stories with his palms. It is soon clear that everything is contained in one. His ever unmoving lips are silent. But you hear him scream.

He is a path of life.

***

The light fills the platform bottom-up, he doesn’t budge. His stillness makes everything around him move. They become dust. You breathe it.

He is immobile. Yet, you are aware of what he sees -around and above him. His vision takes a trip and soaks each floating energy matter into his fiber. Then: he takes a step forward.

That is when he becomes you,

And you become the dancer.