Music and its Words

 Just like the words of my own lyrics. I do not know them as well. Although the words stay with me when I begin the journey together, they seem to overtake me, that feeling of the initial time of scribbling them. In the middle of that journey, the words take the shape of something else, something totally out of my reach or maybe just my imagination can catch. And then they take me to a different world, a realm of rhythm and music which plays at the backdrop when I begin visualizing anything. It makes me visualize a blurred face. Someone with a cap trying to hide his nervousness, restlessness, and vulnerability in it. Someone who wears the garb of a confident singer which he definitely is, but at the same time dons a defensive pose to protect himself from the unwanted attention. Someone whose voice used to keep every awestruck mind in a spell (yes, spell again!), transporting them almost to a different kind of trance only they can feel and understand. Or maybe, I am the only mind who is under that spell, in that trance, feels that voice and understands its pain. I do not have any flashbulb memories of him as such since we never spoke in person. Or maybe I do.

At least that shy face of curiosity intrigues me even now. I am more inquisitive than that face to know how he feels, what he thinks and how he visualizes things, things about life. Beneath the familiar cap hides a popular yet unknown soul, approachable yet distant mind. Maybe, these contradictions intrigue me more than anything. Or rather, his words. Yes, those words. He visualizes every word I say. My words take him to a different world of his dreams, dire desires, and different destinations as he would confess at times. That voice makes me think and float on my own thoughts to a distant but clear path. Somehow, I get a clear vision of that path when that voice strikes deep within. And words would come out like the currents of a flawless river. With the undercurrents of his emotions invisible to me. The world of music is different. The world of creativity can transport one to a different galaxy altogether or create a new one. I can relate so much with that voice, those emotions perturbed by the tiniest yet special feeling. With that voice around, things start falling into place on their own. I have no clue how, but it does happen. Almost all the time.

I used to think there were no other words apart from those of music coming from that voice. But how constructively wrong I was. He would speak his mind, lash out to his heart’s content, but nothing negative as such. He observes minute details, just like I do. Or maybe I am even a closer observer. Sometimes, he would cry his heart out, get angry for no reason but for the sake of getting my undivided attention. Sometimes, he would be quiet confessing his fear of speaking a word in front of me. There are times when he would go confessing how fragile his heart is and how desperately it wants the company of his muse – someone who would listen to his words as well as his silence, someone who would walk with him on an aimless journey in search of their own hidden selves, someone who would be ready to be by his side during rainbows and storms, someone who would create babies with him, music with him, yet give space to each other to create their own galaxies. He has these dreams and aspirations to fulfil someday with the muse of his life. He thinks, strongly feels she is the one for him. That face under the cap has so many dreams to cast spells on me, I would tell myself in my solitary strolls. He is different. He is magic. That voice is soothing. That heart is healing. And the best part is his words are actually mine. So, I do share a considerable bit of that magic, that soothing-ness, that healing-ness. I will always do.