Kisha Dance

I bow to you in the silence before rhythm,
in the pause before the first tatkar touches the earth.

I was not born into your lineage,
yet you allowed me to enter it
barefoot, trembling, unformed.

You taught me how the ankle becomes an instrument,
how breath becomes story,
how a glance can hold an epic.

Through you I learned that the floor is not a floor
it is witness.
That the ghungroo are not bells
they are prayer.

In every chakkar I feel your hands steadying the axis of my becoming.
In every beat of the tabla, your discipline lives in my spine.

You did not only teach dance.
You taught surrender to rhythm,
devotion to detail,
and the sacred geometry of grace.

If ever my feet speak truth,
if ever my hands tell a story that reaches the divine
it is because you carved silence into movement
and entrusted it to me.

This is my bow.
Not from habit
but from love.

To my Gurus.
I was honored to be your student ❤️
Thank you God

I bow to you in the silence before rhythm,
in the pause before the first tatkar touches the earth.

I was not born into your lineage,
yet you allowed me to enter it —
barefoot, trembling, unformed.

You taught me how the ankle becomes an instrument,
how breath becomes story,
how a glance can hold an epic.

Through you I learned that the floor is not a floor —
it is witness.
That the ghungroo are not bells —
they are prayer.

In every chakkar I feel your hands steadying the axis of my becoming.
In every beat of the tabla, your discipline lives in my spine.

You did not only teach dance.
You taught surrender to rhythm,
devotion to detail,
and the sacred geometry of grace.

If ever my feet speak truth,
if ever my hands tell a story that reaches the divine —
it is because you carved silence into movement
and entrusted it to me.

This is my bow.
Not from habit —
but from love.

To my Gurus.
I was honored to be your student ❤️
Thank you God