by Michael de Villiers

Cintsa, from Xhoza meaning "dance", South Africa, Dec/Jan 1976/7

Eternally torn in my passion

between the earth and the moon,

Swelling proudly I rise

to the tug of the moon.

Downwards I crash

with the pull of the earth.

Rushing forward,

I whisper of love against the bosom

of my lover, the shore.

With a sigh, I recede

to gather the strength

for another embrace.

Playfully I tease,

crowning with froth,

the surly, indomitable rocks,

who refuse to join

in my swirling dance,

bringing life

to pools in the rock.

As I lap on the beach

foaming silver

the gold of the sand,

I am soothed

by the strength of my lover's arms,

embracing me to submerge

and drown its yearning.

Daily, while the red sun

goes hiding behind dunes

in search of its slumber,

I continue my song

to silver moon,

turning me like magic

into living, liquid art.

Often I have heard

what lovers have to say

and wished them well,

hoping their joy

will also last, as mine.

Never have I yearned

for sparkling splendour

like the winking stars above.

Nor have I wished

like restless brook

to sing its way to sea.

Never have I prayed

to be other, than only me,

for I live my life of love

as they do theirs.

I will still sing,

I will still sigh,

to the ear which listens

to my love.

Time may come

that even I would cease

to toss my silver mane,

though the Immortal Love

to restless toil created me

would never cease.