The Guitarist

He sat down, started strumming the guitar; I sat down, started penning down words. Both of us were done in 15 minutes.

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He strums the guitar,

Looks at the chords used.

Remembers times spent with her,

And, in loneliness, gets amused.

 

‘While my guitar gently weeps’,

He sings as he tries finding the rhythm.

The macho inside him sleeps,

As only lovely memories stay with him.

 

Suddenly he stops and leans forward,

Oh! He wants to play another song.

‘Wish you were here’ with a G chord,

He strums, recalling all that was wrong.

 

He sings along with the singer,

Soulfully he gets carried away.

Her thoughts don’t stop to linger,

So he stops strumming today.

 

Maybe he’ll sit again tomorrow,

With his guitar and a beating heart.

Maybe he’ll forget all his sorrows,

And join the pieces that’d fallen apart.

 

– Inscribed By,

AddKluZiv

(03.12.2016)

Picture Credit: https://cmkt-image-prd.global.ssl.fastly.net/0.1.0/ps/1242704/680/450/m1/fpnw/wm1/e6wotcy9wsrxkzdbjb0y8dgqozjmxsyhyv3y9st4j2nel81ytl6fpui5dpjskb5a-.jpg?1462476783&s=d9f9d53ee02e7e5c492128b2be7ae47c

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