The streets of Seville keep
their best secrets hidden in the dark
cobbled paths wind in stillness
I wonder where all the dancers have gone
cafes and restaurants throb with the pulse
of a late night soiree
the candles have burned down to stubs
but the servers will not turn out the night
until platters of paella and pitchers of sangria last
I ask where I might find a tablao,
to be charmed and mesmerized
taking directions, I walk into the soft beam
of streetlights through the tangled sleeping town
on the other side
it is so quiet—
what is tucked behind the old buildings
in a walled courtyard I can barely glimpse?
I walk inside—
ensconced in a shell
of darkness, burns the fire
of a woman, her back finely arched
she is attired in a ruffled gypsy dress
her voice reaches
into the desert…………
the man with the guitar plucks on strings—pulling me inside
I have arrived.
© Neetu Malik
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