In a world often dictated by the fragile whims of politics, humans can find freedom in music. While politics sways like a pendulum, music stands as a pillar.
What is politics? A charade of laws, a stage where men clamor for control, where each generation builds upon the ruins of the last, only to be undone by the next. Its victories are fleeting, its ideals diluted, its revolutions swallowed by the same structures they sought to dismantle. The doctrines that men proclaim with blood-stained conviction are, within a century, discarded as relics of folly.
But music does not decay under the weight of time, nor does it crumble under the corruption of ambition. It does not seek dominion, nor does it demand servitude. It is a universal tongue. Even as a song falls from favor, a style cast aside by fickle audiences, its essence is never lost. It remains with the listener, transforming with each generation, never ceasing to be.
Where politics divides, music unites. In the streets, in concert halls, among strangers and friends, music lifts all beyond the petty quarrels of class, race, and nation. Who among us, when hearing a familiar song, has not felt the sudden rush of connection, knowing that someone, somewhere, has felt as we have felt?
Even the rulers, the architects of systems and enforcers of laws, fear the power of music. They forbid words, outlaw books, silence dissenters, yet they cannot extinguish a song sung in whispers, a rhythm tapped against the prison wall.
Music needs no army, no manifesto—only a single voice willing to sing.
Which shall prevail—politics, with its transient victories and monuments doomed to crumble? Or music, which outlives empires, which soars above the ruins, which sings even in the silence of the grave?