Envy, hardened into a bullet, silenced the voice you and I heard so often on the radio.
It was nobody’s business that he grew up an orphan in a ghetto, wondering what it meant to have a father and a mother.
It never mattered to anyone the struggles that punctuated his rise to fame. Now that he’s become famous for singing to cheer on his brothers and sisters still at the bottom of the ladder, it matters.
His political ideologies, his faith, his sexual orientation, some skeletons in his closet, his annual income, they matter now.
And for stepping on toes he could not see whiles singing, one single bullet is used to wipe out years of tears of joy and pain, hard long years of hoping and hoping.
A bullet, blind to the hungry mouths fed by this voice, blind to the many lives this voice has given meaning to.
One bullet. And the voice you and I love to hear so often on the radio is no more.
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