They spun, rising and shrinking
Leaping and falling
To the roll of drums
And the roar of spirited chums.
There was whistling and clapping
Bouncy rhythms and foot tapping.
Enthusiastically they spun, rising and shrinking
Leaping and falling
Crackling in unshackled glee.

Their yellow skirts swirling,
Golden manes whirling
To a rhythmic melody.
The fashionistas spun and leapt
With zest
Not keen on rest
At this scintillating fest.
Fire in veins
Untired
Swaying to the musical strains
Pirouetting recklessly
Breathlessly.
Fiery limbs and faces flushed
Upwards they rushed
Seductively they pranced
As I watched entranced.

Every year they danced the fire dance
Trying to burn down the devil of evil
But the evil, potent with triumphant elation
Doggedly refused to suffer a fiery annihilation.
So, helplessly, the fire dancers collapsed in a heap
No longer wanting to pirouette and leap
With the raging evil their pace unable to keep.
When last seen, they were no longer crackling
But prudently shackling
Their glee.
For yet another year.

Footnote:-
[The story of Holika dahan (Holika’s death) signifies the triumph of good over evil. Holika is associated with the annual bonfire on the night before Holi, the Hindu festival of colors.]

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