The times when beautiful tones could be heard are gone.
The times, when these tones of beauty filled his body are gone.
Only memories remained.
Carved somewhere deep in the heart.
Like in the countryside, all those trees.
I should be strong. I was too young.
Without the ability to defend myself.
Without knowledge how to defend myself.
I enabled ghosts, invisible ghosts around me to enter.
Their arrival meant my departure.
Voices around me, invisible, untouchable voices around me, killed the
visible, touchable voice inside of me. My voice. My own inner voice.
Endlessly controlling events taking place in front of me and behind me,
without the ability to defend myself. It changed me.
It left a mark.
It changed the tones of my heart.
It affected the look in my eyes.
The same way pop-art changed the world.
Outside, where the sun shined, I was used to being fine, I was used to be.
Fights between loved one, violence of passers, evil of strangers.
They filled my eyes, filled my ears.
I became a man that was used to cry in the rays of sunshine.
The smile was destroyed by tears.
The spark was flooded by fear.
From that day, music became my pills. Natural pills.
They enabled me not to use tears.
They enabled me not to hurt myself with my feels.
Loud tones of tender angels, keeping me company throughout days of joy,
days of pain. Whether walking, sitting, lying.
The movement of their lips indicates the effort to throw the darkness onto me.
I don’t care. I don’t listen.
Only green eyes can see the coldness of voiceless strangers.
Music gives me the magical ability to fly.
Music gives me the magical ability to try.
To write words of light, even when surrounded my darkness,
merciless like bloody swords.
Masterpieces that gave me more in times when I had less.