The Blues

The Blues is the land and the people. 
The Blues live as long as they are played, only to be reborn in the silence. 
The Blues are the memory of tired men, as they strive to remember a paradise that never existed. 

The Blues sing to us when we are alone, and keep us company in the crowd. 
The Blues call to us to stay on the shifting and treacherous path.
The Blues is the love that was denied to us as wide eyed children. 

The Blues is the distilled essence of faded pasts and hopeless tomorrows.
The Blues is the Breath that blows on the world and gives rise to life. 
The Blues is the pain that gives rise to life.    

The Blues is the epitaph written on the graves of all those who died too old. 
The Blues is the soft call that echoes in the night. 
The Blues is the voice of the prophets that are never heard.

The Blues is the first love that we struggle to cling onto.
The Blues is the cry for understanding in a heartless world.
The Blues is the dance that was the beginning of all creation. 

The Blues is the last shot of alcohol before one crashes into roaring oblivion.
The Blues is holding your woman so tight because you know you have to let her go.
The Blues is the cool breeze at dawn after a night of torment. 

The Blues is the summer that very quickly turns to autumn.
The Blues is the wind that tells of sighing hearts and lovers apart.
The Blues is the pouring of wine and the sobbing of lovers.

The Blues are the streets that we need to walk but will never do. 

Anand Sukumaran