World Music

I will go to Spain
– the heat won’t worry me –
to sit in cantinas with gypsies
playing frenetic guitars.
The clap and stamp of their hands and heels
will make frills and flounces flash and flick.
I’ll ache at passionate love songs and laments
I don’t understand
and drink red wine.

I will go to Ireland
– the rain won’t worry me –
to sit in bars with gypsies
playing fiddles and bodhrans.
The clip and clack of their reeling feet
will make skirts curl and swirl.
I’ll weep at melancholy love songs and laments
I don’t understand
and drink black stout.

I will go to India
– neither heat nor rain will worry me –
to sit under tamarind trees with gypsies
playing sitars and tabla.
The chink and clink of their belled ankles
will make silken saris glimmer and shimmer.
I’ll yearn at quavering love songs and laments
I don’t understand
and drink sweet masala chai.

I will be a gypsy
– no weather will worry me –
the World will be my caravan,
it’s peoples my family,
their music – my religion.
The whirl and twirl of our dance
will make rainbows blaze
as our love songs and laments roll like thunder across the skies.

Cate Anderson