Dec 2013
It's been months since I played it,
The guitars have my exams in their way,
They miss me at Karnal just as I miss them here at Rohtak.
The strings crave to be played - to be touched by me,
It's high time that I played it so the tuning must be long lost,
The hollow & the pickups feel lonelier in my memory without me & strings missing my touch.
I must hold them in my hands and write musical notes with them,
I will make the strings my pallet & strum them in rhythm while I sing,
I will apologize to my guitars for having ignored them knowingly.
The guitars have my exams in their way,
They miss me at Karnal just as I miss them here at Rohtak.
The strings crave to be played - to be touched by me,
It's high time that I played it so the tuning must be long lost,
The hollow & the pickups feel lonelier in my memory without me & strings missing my touch.
I must hold them in my hands and write musical notes with them,
I will make the strings my pallet & strum them in rhythm while I sing,
I will apologize to my guitars for having ignored them knowingly.
Both of my guitars are properly packed in their covers. But still both of them - the acoustic and the electric guitars - might have gathered dust. And so the title is justified.
I have a third guitar as well which I no longer play.
My 500th poem is dedicated to the she who I love to play guitar for, my guitars themselves and my parents who are wondering when I am next going to oblige the guitars by at least tuning them.
My HP Poem #500
©Atul Kaushal
I have a third guitar as well which I no longer play.
My 500th poem is dedicated to the she who I love to play guitar for, my guitars themselves and my parents who are wondering when I am next going to oblige the guitars by at least tuning them.
My HP Poem #500
©Atul Kaushal
