The dancer elopes, from place to place
tip-toes on tip-toes, his light foot almost threading through the air
his silhouette, the ever-wavering attire he dons
oscillating amidst extremes, fire and water, from town to town
The god who knows how to dance, how he sees himself
rendering him unlike the bearer of the cross,
overlords of the sandy dunes, and the mass of gods alike
but little do you know, he is broken nonetheless
A trembling fear looking forward, shrapnels of seclusion inside
like a mortal betwixt the demon and ocean
he, too, remains similar to the mortal
can he admit that though?
Can he find a place to rest, a secure one
where while fear exists, courage resides beside
he seeks this, for he has lost it
although how can you lose something,
if you never had it in the first place?