A glimpse into my arsenal

A hundred books,
a million words,
and a black guitar named Beth;

Ten’s of stories,
some lucid poems,
and metal music of death.

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

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