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Searching for Flamenco

The streets of Seville keep
their best secrets hidden in the dark

cobbled paths wind in stillness
I wonder where all the dancers have gone
cafes and restaurants throb with the pulse
of a late night soiree

the candles have burned down to stubs
but the servers will not turn out the night
until platters of paella and pitchers of sangria last

I ask where I might find a tablao,
to be charmed and mesmerized

taking directions, I walk into the soft beam
of streetlights through the tangled sleeping town
on the other side

it is so quiet—
what is tucked behind the old buildings
in a walled courtyard I can barely glimpse?

I walk inside—
ensconced in a shell
of darkness, burns the fire
of a woman, her back finely arched
she is attired in a ruffled gypsy dress

her voice reaches
into the desert…………

the man with the guitar plucks on strings—pulling me inside

I have arrived. 

© Neetu Malik