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| Such Are The Days By Isabelle Ghaneh I want to write music I want to hear my own melodies laughing, dancing in my mind I want to look at the sky and hear sounds I want to unbutton my ears, let them be free Without headphones I hear only silence the whir of the computer the putt putt of the refrigerator the constant drone of the television outside yes, there's the occasional bird, the small song of the cricket even the highflying plane going overhead the promise it bungs of adventure and space and travel but I get nothing I see words and colors and lights but no music I wonder, when I listen to the news this morning a woman walking on the railroad tracks with her four boys immigrants all we were all immigrants you know once its midnight the radio voice says midnight and this woman from Paraguay or Guatemala or Columbia someplace like that was walking on the train tracks looking for something listening for something music maybe music that said come here, come find me the music in her head must have been loud it would have to be, to drown out all the noise around her a bad husband, a bad sister, a bad life working as a cleaning lady all damn day long, cleaning up other peoples shit I know what that's like, I used to do it myself I felt like the hash container of the town where I lived which is where she lived well, the same county the most affluent county in America maybe even the world since America, we all know, the land of the free and the brave us is the richest county ever, in the world if we look at the world as one place, say us, we, this people more than Midas, we have and rich people, well, they have a lot of shit that needs cleaning when the train hit her and her chicks her brood, her nestlings did the train rumble sound like music to her the far away assurance of something a word of a song that floated over the sea once long ago or a fragrance, even, if not a song, a scent of lemons maybe, that she remembers maybe she was ten or eleven and the world was stretched out one long picture in a book, the pages unread not even written yet that's why I wish I could write music hear music know what it takes to make music, sounds sing even that's my reason |
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Document last modified on: 01/12/2002