A dancer unwinds herself upon the stage. Something comes alive in that empty space – some fervent energy that vibrates with each move of the dancer. There is no remarkable audience watching her weave this art, save the prying eyes of Time. But it doesn’t matter to her. She doesn’t dance for anyone save for the desire to dance.

As grace and passion unite, the linearity of time fractures until every small moment is animated with a sense of permanence. Time is either viscous as honey or frozen as ice.

In a while, the sensational movements of her body will be silenced as the stage blacks out for her. It’ll be time to go. The emptiness will return to that very sacred space she had held electrified just moments ago. And in a minute yet, a new dancer will ascend to seize what were her spotlights. And the stage, that beloved stage, will eagerly forget her like her divine dance was immaterial.

She knows that. But it doesn’t disturb her. It doesn’t matter to her that she is the Forgotten Dancer. Because she doesn’t dance for the watching eyes or waiting time. She dances for the sake of dancing. To create a ripple in every second and to feel eternity and impermanence entwine. She dances because she is mesmerized by the flow of the movements cascading one after the other, unthought of, yet in deliberate harmony

And at that moment, she isn’t just another Forgotten Dancer, but she is an impression- fleeting, yet undeniably real.


(Image courtesy: Pinterest)


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