I am a proud black guitar owner,
And a fervent admirer of strings.
All these years,
I have nurtured my guitar like a pet.
In recent times,
My poor guitar has been stuck in a corner.
Gazing at me throughout
As if murmuring to itself all the complains about me.
Its been long I have produced music out of it,
And my fingers too crave to dance on the strings.
But the heart is feeling weighted,
And the mind bespeaks lack of musical scales.
Happy or sad occasions,
I have always discovered companion in it.
But no longer its charm seems to spell me,
Am I on the path to be a stoic?
Feel like singing out all the agonies,
And replace the void in my heart with melodies.
I badly crave an evening,
An evening dedicated to my guitar soaked in my pine