the dance of the rain
By Baker Street
Oh, the dance of our Sister.
She peers mischievously over the mountaintop,
and her eyes are shy;
and she laughs softly.
From afar she beckons with one hand;
her bangles shine and her beads glitter;
softly she calls.
She tells the wind of the dance
and she invites him, because the earth is wide, and the wedding-feast large.
The big game charges across the plain,
they converge on the hilltop;
their nostrils flare open
and they swallow the air;
then they bend forward, to follow her tracks in the sand.
The tiny folk underground hear her footsteps drag
and they crawl closer and sing softly:
"Our Sister! Our Sister! You have come! You have come!
And her beads shake,
and her head bangles shine in the dimming sun.
On her forehead is the fiery plume of the mountain whim;
she steps down from on high;
she spreads the dull blanket out with both arms;
the wind loses its breath.
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
(Translation of 'Die Dans van die Reen' by Eugene Marais.)