.
The drums are beating in the night,
Thick with the magic of slaves.
Beneath the twinkling eyes of the Universe,
The ancestors dance between the flames.
The rhythm, a language I knew
So, so long ago.
It did not abandon me.
It drives me mad,
Beating my heart wildly.
Clearing the webs of deception,
Breaking the chains of my mind.
The moon rises, trembling,
To meet the waters,
Agitated in kind.
The ancestors,
They slip between sight and sound,
Tip toeing through my dreams,
Hallowing the ground.
The rhythm rumbles through,
Vibrating the air.
The fire is lit.
The soul burns.
Mysteries shrouding the Eye
That sees so clearly
The clearing of the storm.
Opening the self to receive
The Cosmic Stream.
The ancestors dance on
To the rhythm of the drums.
Watching and waiting,
For the Time of Awakening
Psicólogo Zulu
Comments