Silent Menuet

through misty veil of memories sound of the flute
slowly reveals secrets of the past – things I didn’t understand before
stones of constraints
lifted only by gains …

once wooden sound represented plains
now its echo of chains
echo of what I miss and from what I run from and despise
reflection of warm timber smell and vampires of child’s joy

with every note I see you invade my hidden place
wanting to make my sound exclusive and prestige
to jail it in chambers
for limited members

to rate me with soulless numbers
to compare me with others
and lift upon a freedom of music to announce the winner
turning soul’s confession into greedy whipping …

but I saw gipsies and I felt luxury of the music
so wild that never can be caught in traps of your sparkling walls
I ran into silence
to lonely muted islands

away from your guidance
away from golden sirens
and juicy voice of fame that calls for this corps you trained;
and I’m lying in the soft blackout of freedom’s triviality.

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