Raks Sharqi

A radiant enchantress undulates sublime on obsidian Moroccan hills, weaving wild spells that speak to the raw life-force pulsing primordial through creatures intimate with Earth’s beating heart. Adornments afire under moon-glow kindle her silhouette into an apparition equal parts carnal provocatrice and desert djinn, visiting to inhabit willing devotees through music’s possession. Refined beauty inside the harem can scarcely be contained without burning up fevered vessels in obsession. She is now outside and alone, away from furtive frenzy, practicing her love-craft.

Her undulating dance tantalises through an unabashed celebration of passion’s too-hot-to-handle essence, pulsating urgently behind dammed denials. Though desire’s deluge frequently floods banks to drown decorum’s ditches – when unleashed in a torrent, she flows freely without shame under the disinhibiting influence. Rippling movements elicit laughter too ribald for delicate sensibilities. Yet propriety proves the greater obscenity when masking truths too lusty for labelling. Behind each barred desire lies liberation.

Untamed and exuberant, she gallops across the barrens of the heart, exploring love’s topography beyond mapped terrain. A nomad directing caravans between oasis trysts and desert whirlwinds, she tracks seasonal routes to passion’s watering holes where sweet waters drench thirsty souls after lengthy privation. All creatures parched for intimacy’s elixir discover relief in sumptuous haven. The tent’s silk curtains unfurl open. Inside, weary travellers receive succour from chalice’s replenishment.

Her message reminds us through an undulant gesture that primal urges, indelibly baked into the soul’s clay, still cry for expression even though civilisation deems them unfit for modern mores. Yet heartbeats as old as ancient fires still ignite in tabooed touch when the forbidden siren’s song is answered. Permission granted, a new tribal dance emerges, updated to these strange times. All that is vital in human veins throbs, longing for rhythmic release from constricting boxes. Those that oppress natural joy are stifled and stagnant; they lack colour in their cheeks. When unbound by convention’s gravity, waves of bliss erupt across thrilled flesh, bones exposed, exultant head held skyward, screaming little death’s explosion rosy-faced. Do the wild dance with abandon; the moon knows your burning heart yet untamed.