The music's a muse it conjures contemplation it's bittersweet as a grapefruit... (with tinges of sugarcane) The percussions, back rhythms are made for dancing lulling all to their feet while the horns are mysterious, melancholy... And these Caribbean sounds awaken visions of maracas, of turbaned women sashaying on bare feet and bongos worked by the callused hands of mahogany men. and smiling faces, sweat-sheened gleaming in the reflection of a tropical sun on teal waters. The women sway, their skirts move like the fronds of palms ruffled by a sultry breeze...
© azure warrior
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