It is still the music of my youth that sings to me.
Inside my head if I want it to.
It became part of my time, part of my song.
Subversive music, coming from the streets.
Out of tune with the surround sound monotone
and undermining it with a discordant challenge.
Harmony and discord, the songs of peace and love
sitting side by side with war and revolution, then as now.
They still speak to me, still sing in tune,
the lyrical passion of their words,
the movement music of the songs
has crossed my time and space and become
melodies of movement which still break my boundaries
and join me back together.
Moving rhythms which still excite me, still cross cultures,
still annihilate my time and space with their poetry.
Words also dance for me, moving patterns on a page.
They have their own music, their own rhythms to dance to,
their own poetry and lyricism, even if not set to music.
Their inspiration is also wrapped in emotions and melodies
which have few boundaries and so are both feared and celebrated.
Are timeless and placeless when in tune with changing times,
which can be any time at all.