Mesmeric turns the dervish saint,
in a trance that holy devils brought,
to devotees divine as to strangers occultic quaint,
the work of hell by heaven's name is mystic wrought.
Centrifugal thrusts draw round the victim priest,
as escalating revolutions hasten the orbit of sacred fury,
leaving all to whisper wonder whether this is darkness' or light's beast,
while hypnotized themselves by the swirling satin dress turning circular blurry.
Awe and eerie, the human typhoon threatens all to devour,
and what from center started spinning now pulls each satellite within,
haunting every vi'lent spin with reckless pace and apocalyptic power,
unsure if Satan has been conjured or an oriental sacrament's been given.
But as the jin of flesh and blood hurls numbed his body in a cycled curve
and immolates himself in fevered flames on the altar of irrational devotion,
he frenzied whips Mohammed's winds, blowing with sirocco verve,
and unbroken follows every lust and limb the dance of desperation's motion.