The Dance of the Mountain God

The claps begin,
Slow, petulant,
Like tiny drops of rain which then increase,
As feet pound the rocks, oblivious of the pain,

Higher and higher the tempo goes,
As men stand enthralled in worship of the mountain king,
Exploding sound, compelling throes,
As frenzied claps around the mountain ring.

And then the lull,
As silence like a cloak falls down;
An interlude between booming thunder claps.
The only sound a bell, dispelling the suspense.
A shuffle here, a sniffle there; intimating us of pain.

Then suddenly the claps restart,
Accompanied by the boom of drums,
Clanging cymbals as all take part, with frenzied steps, exploding sounds.
A cacophony berserk; children swaying, women swooning,
Ecstatic noises renting the air.

Building a crescendo, a climax of exploding sound,
Of feet that seem to beat alone,
Of sublime steps somehow gone berserk
In this dance, the dance of the mountain king

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(c) Danny Bagucci