The Dance Of Eternity

A soft moonlight played on the waves, dancing on the tides. On the deserted shore, a lone man was there staring out into the open sea. But he wasn’t just standing there, he was moving, no wait, he was dancing. Though barely fit to be called a dance, his movements were so serene. Mirroring the calmness of the sea, were his eyes, yet his steps were with the rhythm of the sea.

The dark, silvery water lapped on the desolate beach as he danced.

Yet he danced as if in some reverie, as if a trance had cast itself upon him. His eyes were half rolled up, and to an onlooker it appeared as if he was a puppet, lifeless yet moving, soulless yet breathing, purposeless yet living. He danced.

His arms flailed around without any synchronization with his legs, yet there was something about his dance, an overwhelming tranquility, a sense of a relief. He danced.

As he danced, his feet cut into the sharp cold stones. The blood seeped onto the black sand, the scarlet against the grey. But he danced, oblivious to pain, oblivious to the crimson flowing out of his wounds caused by the constant rubbing against the jagged edges. He danced.

The cold wind blew in from the yonder lands, that would make anyone, even wearing warm clothing, shiver. But he didn’t feel anything, despite being naked, free from the bonds of the vapid world, he did not shiver, grimace or even whimper to signify the bone-chilling cold that embraced him. His breath did not even freeze in the air that would make even the winters shiver, it was hard to tell whether he was breathing at all. He danced.

His movements were lucid, almost flowing. Yet there seemed no effort involved in the apparently immaculate steps. The perfection was unearthly. The completeness was eerie. He danced.

A dark cloud drifted across the night sky and hid the moon. The beach suddenly became shades drearier, time itself seemed to slow down.

For the first time his face displayed expression, his eyes held emotion. But the expression was one of grief, of immense sorrow, a pain impossible to bear. He danced.

His lips slowly parted and in a tired, rasping voice, a little louder than breathing, he sang. He sang as he danced. the rhythm of his steps matched perfectly with his voice. He sang;

 

Oh Darkness! if in thy arms,

I could rest for a while,

and with these earthly eyes,

see the pain in thine smile.

Soothe away the darkling day,

Sing me to my slumber,

Mummer thy plaintive lullaby,

And take me down under. 

Suddenly the cloud drifted away and the full moon beamed down onto the dancer. His countenance lost expression once again, a cold mask he adorned with eyes as frigid as an iceberg. He danced.

The waves then seemed to slow down their incessant breaking on the shores, a silence took over the beach. A silence that came in with the winds. The sound of the waves stopped, the creatures of twilight did not resound in the murky night anymore. The owls did not hoot, the leaves did not rustle, the crickets did not chirp. The quiet was complete. The night lulled itself down, no whisper was audible anymore. Even silence could not be heard echoing. He danced.

This time, his face took on a different expression, one of a soul that lost purpose, a life that lost a cause, a marred pointless existence. His eyes changed with his emotions. They became blurry and grey, completely unfocused and distant. his countenance wore a thought, a thought of being lost, hovering between hope and despair.

His lips parted once again and he sang, his voice carried a melancholy of a heart amending song. He sang as he danced.

He hearkened;

 

Oh silence! if in thy cradle,

I could rock like a child,

And fade away into the shades,

leave these earthly woes behind,

Take away these tears of blood, 

serve thy goblet to me,

let me drink to the last drop,

The sweet opiate of dreams.

 

The silence drowned away and the waves broke again. His face again turned into a stone mask. He danced

Then the eastern sky changed its hues, slowly turning black to grey. The dancer looked upon it and a faint smiled played on his lips. Suddenly a pink thread appeared in the lightening sky, and cried out the arrival of the bleak dawn, another wasted day. He danced.

The thread of pink slowly turned golden and his smile widened. But it was not a smile of joy or mirth. It was a smile that hid pain, masked sorrow. His eyes held a knowing, almost like a knowing of his death. There was a hollowness in his steps now, not perfect anymore, almost as if every move opened up an old scar that bled.

The crimson arched across the sky and the apex of the sun shone above the seamless horizon

The first ray of the banal sun that shone on him seemed to pass straight the dancer as he continued to struggle to dance, struggled to even lift his weary limbs. He danced.

As the sun rose up to cast forth mediocrity into the world, the dancer dissolved in to the cold light. The shades seemed to sigh at the passing of the dancer but it was almost as if they knew he would come again. As long as the moon hung on the sky’s arch and the winds cried on the shore in the night, he would come.

When the darkness settled in, he would dance again, when silence caressed the world, he would dance again. He would dance in his drunken trance, in his divine reverie.

He would dance because the night is eternal.

He would dance because he danced to the tune of the night.

He would dance because his dance was the dance of eternity.