Tell me how you sing, for I hear your voice everyday. And it is not a voice that has ever learned to sing. Yet I pause everyday, to hear those words fall from your lips.
Tell me how you fell in love with pianos. For I have seen your hands tremble on those black and white keys. And yet, the tunes you play are the kind of poetry I can't even begin to describe.
Tell me how you sit there for hours, under the charred sun and bleak grey of the skies. For I have seen the darkness fall on your cheeks, and yet the smile has never deserted your face.
Tell me if it hurts to play on isolated streets. Finding that people walk by without giving you a second glance. I walk by each day, and I have seen the hopelessness in your gaze.
Tell me if this is the only corner you grace with your presence. Or are the streets your shelter? Do you look for home in the eyes of strangers, clinging onto music at every turn?
Tell me how you can create a minor symphony with nothing but your voice. How something so plain and simple can sound so beautiful. How there's melancholy running through your fingers, yet you always seem to have a happy countenance.
Tell me if you have ever written a lyric for your lover. If there's heartbreak that you have buried in your song. If the pennies that others drop at your feet, help to put food on the table.
Tell me if you ever think of the ocean, the rippling of the waves and the howl of the tides. If your songs are just the quickest way to keep emptiness at bay. If the silence keeps you awake, the tunes feeding your insomnia.
Someday, dear musician, I want you to tell me the stories behind your songs.
Where I live, there are a lot of musicians who play all day long for very little money. This is dedicated to them.
shizaineThis is the most refreshing thing I've read in a long time. And I relate perfectly to what you've written, I see this everyday too, how they sing so beautifully, or play, and everybody walks past like they are used to them. No one should ever be used to something so beautiful.