Her hips swayed rhythmically
to the tempo of the mystical Bàtá
beaten with the hands of antiquity
at the village square.
Elders nodded in accordance,
onlookers cheered in glee
while trees incessantly bowed
at the command of an ancestral wind
to the dancing goddess,
the mistress of the brave hunter
whom with a wave of cap killed the jungle tetrarch.
Then a wind blew from the west,
and before falling leaves could touch the soil,
she was called Cynthia.
She coiled and wriggled to strident beats
from minstrels of small hours
amidst dense smokes of burning cannabis.
Again, trees bowed
at the command of the strange west wind.