“Music has no meaning now,”

My friend posted with a heavy heart,

When he heard Lumba had left this world.

“Music has no meaning now.”

But was its meaning tied to Lumba’s breath,

Or have we lost the essence of an art?

Music – an ancient craft,

Woven through culture, religion, and tongue.

In her sacred meeting between mortal and divine,

She offered the weary soul a place to rest.

Music – the voice of generations,

Through which the ancients passed down truth,

Often hidden in rhythm and rhyme.

So tell me – how has she lost her meaning?

Was her soul embedded in Lumba?

Go and dig through Lumba’s old words,

Words that still echo truth,

Rhymns that know no death,

Comfort that healed lost souls.

Look to Marley,

Prophecy with no fear,

Protest without a gun.

Look to Lucky, and others of old,

Music had a seat at society’s table.

So why now does she feel so lost?

The modern artist chases not meaning, but metrics;

Not legacy, but likes.

They ask not what heals the people,

But what tops the charts.

Even the Church,

Ministers now seek not to minister,

But to trend.

Less Gospel, more groove.

Less message, more vibe.

Has music truly lost her voice?

Maybe so.

But she can not die.

Lumba met her already alive.

So did we.

And so she must live on.

We can revive her.

Give her a voice to stir leaders.

Give her breath to soothe the unheard pain.

Lend her feet to lift the fallen.

Music can still mean something.

Rest in peace,

Daddy Lumba.