Ivan Sokac


Is it a mortal sin if I crawl into my own world letting just silent music carry me through the tree top of birches and linden. That's probably because I feel the time is less and less fond of me, and I only trust that the music is telling the truth. It is that music, which is a whistling wind, moving the thinnest strings of the surrounding vegetation which again shake now their rattles and scare the birds, solo singers…

Then I take music paper and write the Sonata in three parts. The first is usually livelier. I get excited and loose consciousness for a moment. The second one is yet mild, calm and understandable only by the one who gets so low that one can touch the sky. The third one is like the first one, just so  the one to whom I have devoted all this does not get discouraged.

So ecstatic I wait for the night to fall. When I see the moon, without a moment of hesitation, I give him in silence the paper and I take two steps back...

And he would stare astonished, then would suddenly turn to the side without interrupting the silence. Suddenly music is heard. The same melody as the blowing wind, roared into darkness so strong that the earth shook.

Then I look down and I see how the day, with the corner of the eye curiously observes the awakened sky.


Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en e-Stories.org a solicitud de Ivan Sokac.
Publicado en e-Stories.org el 18.09.2019.


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