Author's website Alexander Korotko

Inna’s earthly life ended, and eternal life began. So it was pleasing to the Lord God that suffering was an integral part of her life. And yet, wether was Inna happy? Of course, in his crazy love to life, to people and, of course, to creativity. At the last stage of her life, writing music became the meaning and purpose of her life. Inna Pushkar was born in Lvov, graduated from a music school there, moved to Kyiv with her parents, studied at the conservatory. Inna was an amazingly bright person and an extraordinary talented composer.

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Fingers are keys, fingers are reason, fingers are pain that sounds from everywhere. Fingers – a ghetto of silent delight, fingers of white, black color, fingers – a sunny road, fingers – music of eternal anxiety. Pianist – the sun as a minted coin. You say that gold coins warm your soul. This summer is in the loser, autumn returns, the oblique lined notebooks, rain at the desk, the wind spins the roulette wheel with passion, the night smiles, the dream-youngster is approaching. Gateways tremble, pants-pipe, the moon oddball stands and catches the stars with a magic fishing rod. A pianist will never condemn a black-and-white life, he will rather behead the love, forgets about it, and, breathing in the nagging sadness of the wedding silence, will drink with the first person he meets. Bad weather is handing out bills, the city is betting in alarm. There are tears of past happiness on the glass, and the triumphal arch of bad weather grows to the sky. Lvov I Dad, will I become an adult? – Yes. When I’m gone. Dad, take me to study music. – I’ll take you. Dad, come to school and listen to me play. – I’ll come. II Dad, I play the best. – I know. – Where from? – From a camel. Are you laughing? – No. I just believe in you. III Dad, there are so many loves in me. I can’t handle it. – You’ll be fine, daughter. You will definitely make it. – Daddy, I’m scared. – I know. Kyiv I Daddy, we broke up with him. I’m alone. All alone. Daddy, help. – Daughter, I’m far away, I’m not with you for a long time. Why don’t I know about it? – You know. II Dad, I started composing music. Just don’t say you know. – I don’t speak. You speak, and I will be silent and listening. III Dad, I miss you. Why is everything so unfair? The sickness came to me. She will never let me go. – It will let you go. And we will be together. Life after life. <I’m a secret> we recorded in Kyiv in the studio of the leading arranger and stage director Vladimir Bebeshko. Inna was worried. But Tamara Gverdtsiteli was in a great shape, and everything worked out the first time. Everyone was in a good mood. We joked and didn’t want to leave. Inna proposed Tamara to record one more of our songs, <41st year>, but the sound engineer of Gverdtsiteli insisted on his own, and the recording was postponed to the next time. More than a year has passed since then. When Inna passed away, I called Tamara and told her about it. Her first words were: <God, what a horror! .. What a pity!>. When I named the date, Tamara’s reaction was stunning: <This is mystic, fatal, on that day in Moscow on television I was recording <I am a secret>:>