I walked a path where silence sung,
Each step a note the keys had wrung.
Like a pianist bound to ghostly strains,
Composing truth through phantom pains.

The music rose, but none could hear—
They danced to shadows, far from near.
Their hearts drew meaning not my own,
And left the soul beneath unknown.

I once met a pianist, weathered and still,
His fingers bled truth on ivory bones.

I asked, “Why play alone for all these years?”
He sighed, “There was a time I did not.”

- Niko Randeni