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He left us
He left us, and his music slipped away with him, an inseparable part of his soul that could not linger behind. At last, they are entwined forever. He once confided in me, “When I finish my tasks, I’ll weave music again.” But inspiration, the eternal muse of melody, brooks no rivals—no servitude to the mundane, to family, to duty. Torn between the siren call of music and the weight of earthly responsibilities, he faltered. He departed, his exquisite melodies unwritten, his dreams unspun into reality.
He heard the echoes of his future symphony, his unwritten opera, yet they never rang true in the waking world. His deep, raven-black eyes always carried a quiet sorrow, as if pleading, “Guard me, cherish me.” And we failed to shield him.
He let himself be buried under the crush of work, leaving no space for music in the fleeting realm of time. His music waited, patient and hopeful, yearning for the moment he would lift his head from the clutter of papers, the weight of trivial labor, and step into the boundless bliss of communion with sound. His music called to him, then grew weary of calling, tired of waiting, and with a commanding pull, it claimed him, whisking him away to an eternal union.
In the realm of sound, every creator sifts through vibrating pearls, those resonant treasures unique to their inner world, offering us a glimpse of eternity, a taste of the infinite. This sonic realm is chaotic, yet the creator, harmonizing it with the pulse of the cosmos, brings it into alignment with the world we inhabit. This act demands the full surrender of the self. The composer becomes a conduit, a bridge between the harmony of the cosmos and the raw energy of sound, like wires carrying electric currents to illuminate humanity. Through the composer flows a force that reminds us of an eternal beauty, untouched by experience or the probing of this world.
Music is sublime, its power a mystery. Why does it stir us so? Why do our wills bend to its sparkling, flowing, roaring, crackling, cascading notes? By what laws is it crafted? Why do the grand, towering works of some composers leave us unmoved, while the fragile, trembling thread of faint sounds from others pulls us into an intoxicating unknown, impossible to grasp or touch?
The world grows harsher, more unpredictable. The loss of unclaimed talents carries grave consequences, rippling through the cosmos. These unrealized gifts, unfulfilled among us, manifest elsewhere, stirring waves across the universe. A departing talent takes with it a fragment of the soul of that essence we call humanity—a grace we squander recklessly.
Each of us must live this life fully, embrace our gifts wholly. When He left us, sorrow grew heavier, more tangible. For he was a Musician.
Masguda Shamsutdinova, member of the Union of Composers of Russia and the Republic of Tatarstan, Honored Artist of the Republic of Tatarstan.
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