Riddles
It’s what happens when different notes, sung or played together, create more than the sum of their parts. The beauty of music often lies not in a single voice, but in the weaving of many. I’m born when voices blend, not one alone, Together in chords, my beauty
Riddles
It’s the way sound carries, echoing beyond its source. In music, it’s what fills the air and moves the chest; in life, it’s what makes ideas and feelings last. I follow a note long after it’s gone, A ripple in air that keeps moving on. Not
Riddles
It’s music meant not for a crowd, but for one soul. A performance under windows and balconies, woven with longing, often sung or played at night. I’m not a concert, nor a noisy parade, But a song of affection that softly is played. Under the stars or a
Riddles
It is a beautiful word that rolls off the tongue like a little fanfare, something softer and almost musical. It has nine-letters, no repeats but balanced in rhythm. It feels full, but not clunky. It carries a natural upward lift — when you say it, you can almost feel yourself standing