Dancing in the Rain

I lived in a storm
that covered my homeland.
It was relentless
wet, cold—
heavily looming over shivering bodies.
I lost friends, many friends,
to the apathetic storm above,
and vowed that would not be me.
 
Making peace with storm
that lived overhead,
I found the courage to go outside.
I danced to the thunder
and pranced in the rain
with the lightning as my strobe.
If I was struck by lightning,
at least I would die dancing—
not shivering in a corner
waiting for the inevitable.
 
I danced for years,
I danced while I laughed
and danced while I cried.
I danced at weddings and funerals.
I danced until I bled.
I danced for my life.
The only way to survive the storm
was to stay warm by dancing.
 
I can’t remember when,
but eventually sunlight cracked
through grey clouds―
like Moses parting the sea.
Sleet turned into a drizzle.
Light bounced off the rain—
reflection, refraction, dispersion.
A multicolored spectrum of light
arched through the sky.
A rainbow.
 
I dared not stop dancing,
no matter how lovely the sight.
I couldn’t reach it, touch it, taste it, or smell it.
A colorful illusion―
I could only see it from a distance,
but that was enough.
There must be life after the rainstorm
and even if it was a dream,
I knew it was there—
guiding me towards hope.
 
Over the years,
rainbows would come and go
just as the rainstorms did,
but now I am an experienced dancer
not like a ballerina gracefully on point—
disciplined, choreographed, poised.
Instead, like a joyful child
moving to a rhythm only she knew.
Onlookers did not understand
her patterns, steps, twists, and turns,
because she didn’t learn to dance
in the studio.
She learned to dance
in the rain.