Author’s Note

This piece started as something simple—a list of music I love.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about songs and became something closer to identity.

It turned into a love letter to the sounds that shaped me.

The music we grow up with—or stumble into—doesn’t stay in our headphones. It starts shaping how we feel, how we remember, how we move through the world. Over time, those sounds stop belonging to “other places” and start becoming part of our internal geography.

This poem moves through four countries because that’s the path my ears—and honestly, my heart—took growing up. These artists weren’t just background noise; they were cultural touchpoints that expanded my worldview long before I ever had the chance to travel.

I’ve never lived in the places referenced here. But I’ve visited them in the only way I knew how: through sound.

The references in this poem aren’t meant to claim ownership of any culture, genre, or community. They’re acknowledgments—expressions of gratitude for the music that helped me understand myself, broaden my empathy, and feel connected to places far beyond my own borders.

What surprised me while writing this was realizing that I don’t experience those influences as separate anymore. They’ve blended into something personal. Something translated. Something re‑owned in the act of listening and feeling.

This poem is about that transformation.

About how a heart can echo across languages and still sound like itself.

Every name, every lyric nod, every language shift is part of the map of how I became who I am.

This isn’t a history lesson or a ranking of influences.
It’s simply the story of how music taught me to feel at home in more than one place.

— Rowan Evans

A Heart That Echoes in Another Language
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sit in the colors of Japan,
red and white, as heavenly6 hits—
it’s the melody that drifts
under paper moons.

It’s the beauty I see
in the filth around me,
THE GAZETTE resounding—

but still I say Hi Hi when we meet,
it’s the sounds of Tokyo
that make me move my feet—

Ami Onuki and Yumi Yoshimura
shaped my global empathy,
that’s one thing I’m sure of.

하루하루—
I drifted,
my mental shifted
as I moved across
the East Sea.

BIGBANG made it easy.

The Kings of K-Pop,
guided me deeper
into that scene.

It was all brand new—
it was SHINee.

And that’s when I fell for
Brown Eyed Girls—
it was like magic.

Abracadabra.

Pause.

Now, if you think this is
the full story, you’re wrong.

This is just a Highlight
of when I was a BEAST
for new sounds.

Then we shift again—
MandoPop and Canto, too,
Chinese R&B will make you move.

Guess you can call me,
Kuzco—
the way China gave me
a brand new groove.

With each new song,
I found a G.E.M.—
a sound that will
Get Everyone Moving.

Nine Chen hit me
right in the chest—
a different kind of ache.

So when it’s time to go,
and it’s hard to leave—
I say “Bai Twice,”

before I catch my
sonic flight,
ride the sound waves
to a different place—

to different streets,
where their beats
reverberate in different ways—

where I land next is a place
that feels like home—
a sound that speaks
in warmth and gold.

Musika taught me
something important—

that a heart can echo
in another language.

Dionela wrapped me
in a softness
I didn’t know I needed.

And G22 showed me
that power can be
a kind of prayer—

a chorus you carry
in your bones.

Across four nations,
I followed melodies
like constellations—

each song a compass,
each rhythm a road.

And somewhere between
the beats and borders,
I learned that home
isn’t a place you find—

it’s a sound
you grow into.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[The Soil Won’t Write Me]
Sometimes survival looks like disappearing into art long enough to find yourself again. “The Soil Won’t Write Me” is a confessional free verse poem about displacement, mental noise, rootlessness, and using writing as a way to stay afloat.

[The Needle Doesn’t Point North]
“The Needle Doesn’t Point North” is a deeply personal free verse poem about displacement, identity, and spending a lifetime feeling emotionally disconnected from the place you were born while being drawn toward distant shores.

[Weather in My Chest]
“Weather in My Chest” is a free verse poem about emotional hyperawareness, social tension, and the quiet experience of carrying internal storms into rooms that react before a singl[e word is spoken.

[Sound as a Vessel]
“Sound as a Vessel” is a free verse poem about music as emotional architecture, exploring how international artists and soundscapes shaped identity, creativity, memory, and poetic voice.

[Just Knowing You Has Been Enough]
“Just Knowing You Has Been Enough” is a deeply vulnerable free verse poem about unspoken love, emotional fear, coded confessions, and the quiet truth of caring for someone without needing perfection in return.

[The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
“The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

[Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

[Separate Timelines]
“Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]