The faint sound of a guitar once played;
The hum of her strings that reverberated through this space;
The soft vibrations where I belonged,
have stayed with me through all my wrongs.

The nights I spent with my headphones,
listening to ballads on the radio;
The scribbled notes in this book of songs,
have stayed with me through all my wrongs.

The voices that carried over the waves,
over the crowds, they echoed for days;
A mixture of voices that sang for long,
have stayed with me through all my wrongs.

The riffs that laid the rhythm;
The drum beats that thickened the air;
The solos that played along,
have stayed with me through all my wrongs.

The silence that’s now my bind,
clouding the depths of my mind,
behind this smokey bong;
I’ve never felt so wrong.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar