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A recorded reading of “Echo of an Echo”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
In pages worn by passing hands. In songs once bloomed in forgotten lands. A shadowed figure. A name gone pale. Yet the heart remembers— without fail. They spoke of a night when winter breathed frost, a march that walked into the lost morning. Faces blurred. Voices thinned. Till truth grew soft— and edges dimmed. A memory told through another’s breath sheds its shape. Slips from death. Yet the echo rings in the open sky. And the dust remembers why. Hold the story. Do not let it go. The roots run deeper— than you’ll ever know. Echo of an echo, far from the start— still beats in the ground, still burns in the heart. Echo of an echo, we keep the flame— the sound may change, but the soul’s the same. I see the flag in its faded frame. Hear the song with no known name. Children dance, not knowing the tune— yet feel the heat of a long-lost June. We pass it down like a secret fire. Each hand reshapes. None expire. And even when the words are gone— the rhythm carries on. And on. Echo of an echo… Voices rising. Feet stamping. The flame—brightening through the dark. And when the whistle fades to wind, when the whisper is swallowed by distance— Still, somewhere, it beats: Ngizobuya… I will return.
Lyrics
In the pages worn by the passing hands In the songs once sung in forgotten lands There’s a shadow shape, there’s a faded name But the heart still knows it just the same They told me once of a winter night Of a march that walked till the morning light But the faces blur, and the voices fade Till the truth is soft and the edges frayed A memory told by another’s voice Loses shape, loses choice Yet the echo rings in the open sky And the dust remembers why Hold the story, don’t let it go The roots run deeper than you know (Echo of an echo, far from the start) Still beats in the ground, still burns in the heart (Echo of an echo, we keep the flame) The sound might change, but the soul’s the same (Chant: “Asimbonge! Asimbonge!”) I see the flag in the faded frame I hear the song but not the name The children dance, they don’t know the tune But it holds the heat of a long-lost June We pass it down like a secret flame Each hand reshapes, but the heart’s the same And even if the words are gone The rhythm carries on and on
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