A hundred books,
a million words,
and a black guitar named Beth;
Ten’s of stories,
some lucid poems,
and metal music of death.
Substance-induced
organic dreams,
alcohol adventures in the night;
A boxed up heart,
a forgotten past,
drenched in pyrotechnic light.
A rainy walk,
a meaningless chat,
with a friend, a stranger the same;
A few grey tools,
from my arsenal I use,
to play the existence game.
While I dance with my body and mind in asynchronous frenzied fray.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
Beautifuly penned! I should share some recorded Beth notes 🙂
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yeah ive been thinking about it for a while… may soon.. 😀
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