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SO REMEMBER ME WHEN THE MUSIC DIES DOWN
It was the music and the rhythm that brought us together in the first place. That night, with sisal skirts and jingles on our feet and we danced barefoot in the full moon. The drummers were excited for the day and they did the magic with their sticks. There was joy and glee as the old and the young came together to shake a leg and have the time of their lives but to me, to us, they simply didn’t exist. The thumping of their feet on the ground seemed to be coming from a great distance and the strong smell of their sweat unknown to our noses. The song was for us then, a call for us to come together and show them our love, and we did. They stood by to marvel, be jealous and envious. We were the talk of the dance arena and the village later on and our love, like the music was an example to many. We would have to wait for the next moon for the festival to come on but yes, the music was playing in our heads and our hearts. We realized that we didn’t need drummers and our heartbeats were rhythm enough. Our song we sang and would sing forever we believed, but then, look at us now. The drums, drummers and lyrics are changing. The gongs on the drums are becoming less frantic and the twang of the guitars predictable. The singers are slowly turning away from their party bangers and are setting the stage for the sorrowful love dirges, for now the tables have turned. We were the ones lost in the rhythm but now the rhythm is lost in us. The frantic jumping and dancing slowly turned to a sway and now a mere shake. The clanging of the cymbals is now growing distant, forlorn and sorrowful. The drummers are tired of our on and off love and their hands are now tiring. Watch the crowd breaking for their homes, tired of watching us breaking hearts. Listen to the beats ebbing away like a tide back to the sea and know that today is over. Should we sit back and see where tomorrow will take us? Should we stand aside and await the village lyricists to bring us back? Well if the music comes back and I ain’t there yet, then have fun but remember me when it dies down again. Let our love bloom at the sound of the sticks and allow them to see us getting lost again. So remember me when the music dies down.

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