They Say Her Name is Music, its Beyond History [Entry 1]

Music… A world of her own. She takes you high enough, you almost wish you could never come down. Music is her own language that every race doesn’t hesitate to speak. She raises her voice above all the rest, you will hear her out, for she affords you the luxury of both loving her and hating her, but no matter what, you will find your way back into her arms for all the emotions she unleashes within you. 

Music tells us stories, stories about the times she fell in love with a stranger or two and had her heart broken, danced her heart out and found herself waking up with the bartender the next morning. She’ll tell you how she walked through glass, and survived because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Or that one time she decided to quit her job and start anew, she was scared but she did it anyway. She makes even the most trying of times so bearable.

Music has so many children, and each of her children didn’t shy away in expressing themselves even if they were ridiculed for it, they stood by their beliefs in love, life and everything else in-between. They were birthed into earth as her composers, singers and musicians. Even as time forgets the Kings and Queens to ashes, the songs and hymns could never forget, for they are passed from one generation to the next, by the beat of the drums, the shake of the tambourines and the chants of our young men and women dancing around by the bonfire as they look up to the stars for guidance with the blessings of our ancestors.

Now at times like these, Music is not for the memories of our hearts or to be remembered, but was turned to be a means to an end. She has been sucked into a world of Fame and Fortune where only numbers speak for you, instead of the heart that weighs on you to relate to your listeners and relay your message to them. Some that still believe in her truth are drowned out and put away, as her children are enslaved, abused and silenced, for their work is no longer their own. It belongs to the man in the suit and the screen that televises their lives, and so they die out in their minds behind closed doors where they believe to find peace. They turn to the only thing they know to numb the pain and bring them sudden bliss. As they take in one pill at a time, they drift away again and again until they never come back, back to mother, Music as she awaits them, but the world would mourn them. Like the Kings and Queens before them, they return to ashes but their voices remain where they truly belong, for her name is truly beyond history. It is Music.


This article was written by Janefrances C. Obiajulu; connect with her on instagram here

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