Lost in the Dance

I'm here again

among the flutes

in the whistle of kavita;

upon the heavenbound melody

of Great Dravidia

 
Soul moves our limbs

as we flow with the green current

of Nilambur's teaks;

plucked like lutes,

struck as the drum beats

 
This is the south

This is our vital blood

rhythmed by our bhakti feet,

as if we were drunk

But our mind is sound,

our hearts in tune

Its a different kind of funk

and it impacts along

the fertile ground

under a tropical moon