They are everywhere. You see them too. The people with hips rolling to the beating of unseen drums, recklessly pumping bystanders with the addictive hum of a tune that can’t be shaken off.
At times the hum is just that but, no sooner do the iron fists and their shepherd gloves appear then so do the songs of defiance. It is even before the first hymn is sung at temples and tents that a song of praise welcomes the dawn. It cannot be avoided. Music is the ultimate drug.
It does things to us we might not otherwise do. It possesses us with its beat, lures us in with a verse, hooks us with a rhyme and rips us apart with a single chord.
And so it comes as no surprise that music has a checkered past. The people consumed by it don’t hide it. They can’t. Music manifests itself in the things we think, say and do. It is the strain that snaps the chain of those condemned to serve. It is the war cry that precedes the bloodshed. It is the lament that follows death, and the ululations of celebrations. It is one thing and also in all things.
That is why we must never forget the power that music commands. For those who own it govern it. So, one can either own their music or be governed by it.
Own your music. Live your life parallel to the soundtrack you want to play.
When there’s blood on the streets you’ll find the prelude to war on the lips of the masses that have been massacred. Music is the fuel that fans the flames of revolution.
start something
that time cannot wipe away.
it takes one verse.
Namaste
Wednesday
Sometimes, Words
Sometimes, words don’t say what we want them to say.
The words we throw as lifelines
fall as prejudgments on the ground,
and the healing in every letter
becomes the blade in every word.
Sometimes, apologies are watered down
by the tears in our eyes.
The words we surrender as compromise
are in turn used to hurt us,
and the sacrifice in every act
becomes the fire that burns us.
Sometimes, love does not breed love.
Words we give to protect
are the same words used to bleed love,
and the forgiveness of one cruel act
becomes the bullet that kills love.
Sometimes, words don’t say what we want them to say.
Namaste
The words we throw as lifelines
fall as prejudgments on the ground,
and the healing in every letter
becomes the blade in every word.
Sometimes, apologies are watered down
by the tears in our eyes.
The words we surrender as compromise
are in turn used to hurt us,
and the sacrifice in every act
becomes the fire that burns us.
Sometimes, love does not breed love.
Words we give to protect
are the same words used to bleed love,
and the forgiveness of one cruel act
becomes the bullet that kills love.
Sometimes, words don’t say what we want them to say.
Namaste
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