By: Bethelhem Teame
I am a gypsy. Incase this hasn’t been clear so far- stop calling me Missy. I have long buried all sentimentalism and attachments deep within, in a deeper pit than my heart’s bottom. Of course I have laid down a flower before I departed-what kind of woman does it make me if I haven’t done that much?
I didn’t glance back.
I sway my hips to the dance-to the tune of the music playing on the background. You must know that I am never got caught in surprise. To any tune, I dance- never missing a beat, not even once. When the dust settles and the music dies, when the crowd disperses, I pick up my tent and journey ahead along with this wanderer heart of mine. My heart wanders, my feet follow and to the gentle touch of the chords, my hips dance.
Men are such a woeful creatures in my eyes-they know I am a gypsy but still want to conquer my heart. What would a gypsy be without her wanderer heart? I shudder to even imagine that.
That is the one thing I have- even if it is not truly mine-, the one thing they can’t have, the one thing they want to conquer the most and add to their list of conquest and triumphs .
Men receive a woman’s heart for free but make her pay ransom to have it back, broken…No wonder they think my heart is a prize to be stolen.
I heard they put a bounty over my heart. The hunter would claim a prize and a title to brag about. I covered my mouth and smiled. Typical of men to demand more than offered on the table-but my heart is not negotiable. And since when is being a gypsy a crime? Whoever believes so should cast the first stone now….
I look out at the horizon; across the borders-to the city where the music is loud, the night always young, the bustling of the people raising to the skies……., my wanderer heart sets to go as usual, the straps of my sandal are fastened tight, my bundles all tied..“ I have been here for too long..” Time to move on, time to wander about, to get lost in my destination’s merriness, to splash my grey reality with colors, my deaf existence with sounds of trumpet.
I might even dance before the Sultan, I can feel my head will be light, my feet loose and alive; but my heart intact in its ribcage- even the Sultan’s gold won’t make me budge.
My heart is a wanderer that only dreams of a journey and cannot be tied down. When the magic of the music dies, after the mellowing feeling of a dance, right before the warmth of our embrace cools down, should you decide to depart..I am not some fool who stays back and wait. I will shade no tears at your retreating back.
I am a gypsy. I am not some other missy. I wander around with my heart at the lead to the unknown journey ahead. If you leave to the west then I am heading south..that way we will never have an encounter – you and I. And if you should see me in our next life, I will be like the flowing water that you can never clutch..I will slip from your hand’s grip and flow to the river that has no home or land. You can never own my heart, even in the afterlife. My heart isn’t yours to own or hunt.
Pic:By artorifreedom d48b0cf -http://www.rpgpost.com/gallery/sizes/166-sister-gypsy-by-artorifreedom-d48b0cf/large/