By Nana M’bawa

It wasn’t ours

Her dance was a whirl

A twirl

A whirlwind which shook our dance

Our dance had a beginning, and an end

We didn’t know the roots of her dance

And so she twirled, she whirled

A lone dancer

And we, rooted, united, moved in step

The same step

Closing our eyes to her dance

And yet the ground shook as she danced, and sent tremors through our dance.

By Nana M’bawa

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