Guitar met Sam Sam met guitar. Sam is the best thing that has ever happened to it.
Like tunes are inevitable without rhythm And lyrics without devoid experiences And them, without inspiration.
They know, no boundaries They play with the highest & lowest frequencies They sound just fine without a chord or two. If you separate them, they’ll sound like a lucid dream. Keep them together and they’ll find their voice. Of all the enchanted hearts with no expressible bond.
Clouds like a storm & breeze like a tornado. They accompany you with a cup of tea on an empty chair The empty chair with an unwilling pillar to shake.
But, when the sky clears and you feel free, You may forget their deeds but not feelings.
Incapable of love, but of tenderness. Mistake the one, & the other shall carry the baggage. Carry the void of emptiness, till you play your part in this peculiar life.
Coz what they had was like a one night stand, Emotionally unavailable, Juvenile and vulnerable.
Inspiration damaged Sam. Guitar met Enzo. Enzo is the best thing that has ever happened to it.
That workaholic lady who's always on call & keep up with the market cells, That newly married lady with chunky "red bangles" talking to her husband with both earphones and blush on.
That man with a big fat stomach filled with his wife's love; That teen who is on the edge of being deaf because he can't do without the earphones.
That struggler who always stands at the back door; That dreamer who's lost looking outside the window; That person who's scared to get lost so stay active on the maps; That disturbed mind who is coping up listening to George Michael; That overworked soul who can crash anywhere.
That lady who choose to sit and freeze to death under a broken A/C unit, rather than stand with a five kilo backpack in a crowded jungle. That girl who eats like a thief by hiding her food in the bag; That tall enthusiastic freak who swings and does gymnastics in a moving bus.
That granny who spot more trends than teens and follows them; That old man who still can't keep up with the uneven roads and the confused climate of Bombay.
That teen who lives with/on an Ipod, instead of the 90s kids who survived on colouring books; Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in the still crowd by surpassing like electrons to the magnetic field.
That man who is inspired by Raju Rastogi from 3 Idiots, chanting to death and can't stop stressing on his responsibilities; That entrepreneur with a head held high and red lipstick, who never believes in a 9 to 5 corporate "mistake",
That blogger who can't think offline and is born to shine on the Gram, That man who switches from Linkedln to South Indian action movie when the masses exit.
They bruise their pupils with the sharp roses. They built an empire with fur and sequins. And lived with poise and jealousy. Burnt and alive, torn yet together. The prudent of all, dangerous of all minds.