Flickering amber-tinted candlelight,
Clouds of lotus-scented incense,
And the gentle sound of drums and flutes
Fill the marble chamber.

She floats into the center of the room,
Her step light as a petal falling upon the surface of a pool.
The pharaoh's guests shift slightly,
Awaiting the moment the dance will begin.

She comes to a stop,
Her arms above her head,
Holding up a silk veil to hide her.
She is the essence of grace, even when motionless.

The drumbeats start soft,
Quiet and distant, like the desert breeze,
Before steadily increasing in strength and tempo,
Like the rising power of a sandstorm.

All the while, the dancer spins and steps,
Dipping as the music carries her around the room.
She discards her veil with a sudden ululation,
And falls to the floor in a heap.

The guests catch their breath in unison
As the music resumes, filled with the gods' mystery.
The dancer slowly lifts her torso,
Her dance having transitioned to the floor.

She slowly rises to her feet,
And with wild abandon, spins around and around,
Until, with a note of finality,
One last drumbeat echoes through the chamber.

The guests applaud the dancer,
Her dark cheeks burning with a delicate pink blush,
Which only deepens when she notices the pleased look
She receives from the pharaoh himself.

Even now, nearly three thousand years later,
The drumbeats and ululations fill stages across the globe
As the art of bellydance spreads to faraway places.
The ancient dance of beauty continues.