Blues of the misunderstood - Written by @nachomolina

in GEMS6 months ago

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Blues of the misunderstood

Author: @nachomolina
Original Poetry

The street was damp with those characteristic fumes caused by an early rain. My breathing was shortened, then adjusting the scarf I protected myself a little more, even so I had to endure the drops that fell in the very fine cross rain slowly wetting myself without remedy.

Under gray clouds that threatened to collapse at any moment, this is how my day began, asking me: Where am I going? How will my new melody end?

"The sound of those drops came in scales and the blowing of the wind were low tones precipitated in a conical opening tunnel."

In bad weather, good face! Life in pink is always better with dew petals. My thinking was undervalued, misunderstood, I saw the world with shades of another color and made them sound like a musical box in my mind. But no one cared...

I played them all to the beat of a society without too many options, the sidewalks marked by silence, alleys that echoed a dull mystery. The houses and the doors closed with their modular bells and people leaning out of the windows which were hidden when I approached.

"Walking on dry leaves is something pleasant, I enjoy those crunches close to the ground to the rhythm of my footsteps, however, when they are wet, my mental symphony is opaque, accustomed to hearing the heavenly target of vibrant hectic cities".

I crossed the road putting my feet on the track left by the cars, an oily supernatant on the asphalt told me that I could fall if I wasn't careful. I regretted ruining my notebook, despite the attempt to keep it under my shirt, it was in vain, my notes got wet as I went. Sometimes I think that,

"I sing not to cry or rather my songs are the repressed cry of an inner "being", the one who believes in art but sheds tears with his voice."

That was for me the meaning of that sudden rain!, the pain of someone who looks at me from above saying: "I feel just like you, I am the sound of the rain trying to decorate your life".

I would have to redo the pentagrammed layout of my last song, the ink had run off all the material and completely ruined the advance. The sol key in the second line was the only thing you could see, the rest was a smear of mixed notations...

_"What could be good on this day? If a musician listens to the sounds of the wind, what can I expect from me, who only listen to this damn rain..." _

It was difficult to get indoors, apart from being a stranger in that place, the people in turn had the face of few friends and were not willing to help. Under the flakes of the trees I was able to protect myself somewhat, but when the rain increased again I decided to run and hide in the first place I found, hoping not to get into some murky problem.

"Many times I got to thinking about quitting, I didn't see any options to earn a living in such a hostile society..."

Music has always accompanied me but I'm not sure if this time it will save me!


"I stood under the canopy of a small shop, I thought that there was no point in continuing to walk, I felt that this was my defeat! When I shook my shoes and ran my hand through my clothes trying to remove excess moisture, I looked around to recognize where I was. I caught a smell of beer ferment and tobacco smoke, I visualized the half-open wooden door and the glass of a reception. Slightly let the ambient music slide in, I was surprised to hear that guitar Riff play, leaving the interior..."


It was the entrance to a tavern! The local guard had a pure in one hand, a mug of beer in the other, when he saw me soaked, he took pity on me with a smile and showed me to the hall. I thanked him and promised that as soon as the rain passed I would leave, however he asked me to come into the bar and take a seat.

"At last something was going well on that day! The first friendly person I meet, now I was safe from the damn rain and sitting at a table, all I had to do was ask for a drink..."

The place was empty and the man at the door was also bartender. He brought a mug of beer to the table saying: This is going to the house! And sat next to me. Without wasting time, I began to transcribe my song again on a napkin, while outside on the street the rain continued to rage.

Taking a little confidence, we started a conversation, so the owner of the premises told me about his decline:

_!Because of the rain now the bands are not coming to play at my tavern! _, Once this was a place of worship for lovers of blues, now it is just a forgotten soulless bar waiting for a trigger to return to lift him up.

How much would it give if the good times were back! The pool tables full of dueling brewers, the maids with the tequila shots, the poker games, the food, the rock bands, the music, the music... I've lost everything!


"I did not stop writing my song, listening to the story of failure told between thunder and lightning, wielded the message on lines, his voice was chanting between oak seats, it was clamor surrounding the neon advertising, the posters of truckers on desert roads... the inspirational piece was gestating among bemoles that were coded in the pentagram, little by little the lives of two men were solved. In the corner, a triangular platform twenty centimeters from the ground with the acoustic box on the Carpet, a 1959 "les paul" guitar and the old tube amplifier on, letting me see who had played the Riff I heard when I came in. These instruments were there for a reason, added to the rhapsody, fragments of the incomprehensible reason that brought me here..."


"The sound of the rain had guided me to the perfect place!, the corner of a city where people had lost faith, my tastes for music made sense and the harmonica of delirium was playing again in my mind".

Now my crying had a title! In the half-light atmosphere of a bar I finished my work: "The blues of the misunderstood", a melancholic cry of pain that despite its eventful birth, would fill the spaces again of that tavern and the life of two forgotten characters who found their true destiny...

END


[Original Content]
@nachomolina


venezuela
2020