Denzel Maniple Everd
As the cinders rise from the crispy trunks
So does the dust from the stumps of tipsy drunks
Ecstatically wriggling and shaking their bodies
Until their sweating trickles down to outline the silhouettes of their jollies.
The dancers run around the flames of music with excitement
And the watchers smile and laugh at the entertainment
The dancers hype the mood and try to grow their numbers
But the watchers grin, refuse and brood like cucumbers
In denial, the dancers return to their ring of melody with a raging call to musical Nirvana.
The tales of a bonfire, while the dancers dance and the watchers watch, the trees and stars record
They listen to stories untold and emotions unfold
Memories of good and bad from days of old
The jokers joke and the clowns clown
In a bid for attention and need for succession
A very bad attempt at coordination.
A meal is served, an apetite is killed
A saltless sauce, an attack on human rights
Who would have known that life juice could be so poisonous and so death dealing
The chapatis tried though
The meat, not much so…
Friends and games
We play in escape from the trivial and mundane
And land in the realm of wonderous fame
Strangers pulled by the magnetic force of our game
Soon to become another tale we shall tell when the shape of their scent disappears from the boarders of our sting.
The tales of a bonfire, another beautiful addition to the memory pire.
Maniple Denzel Everd
Written by
Storyteller, amateur poet and photographer (IG: @denzel_everd || @some_things_denzel_sees), and film-maker.
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