Apology to My Guitar

When I saw you in that shop, our views didn't match enough,
I was looking for an electric guitar, not any classical stuff.
Still got you that day as my budget was tight,
In my hands you felt quite easy and light.

Everyone appreciated our imperfect match,
I was surprised that my loud voice could even sing flat.
A metalhead like me, who dresses up like a punk,
Plays a classical guitar, quite impressive enough?

But our sweetest bond hardly lasted for a month,
My complaints with you slowly begun.
Your mellow tone sometimes didn't match my pitch,
You realised the kind of anxiety I carried within.

Your strings then slowly started to break,
Cracks on your body were fixed with glue and tape.
Even though I held you with utmost care,
I felt like you saw me with complete despair.

All my unfiltered emotions were spewed out on you,
I wasn't surrounded by people, all I had was you.
You craved for a collaboration with my music crew,
You were curious to meet my band when I couldn't even count a members few.

But I always tried talking to you and pressed every string,
To hear out your voice and all your supressed feelings.
You did talk sometimes, because I asked you hard enough,
What about me? Did I ever open up?

Anyways I always forgot you were the weaker one,
You were a delicate guitar, but I was a fragile human.
So one day arrived when I couldn't play you anymore,
Your strings had loosened on the fretboard,
As I held you close, your neck was bent,
I did take you to that shop to fix you again.

They said that the damage done was irreversible,
You were wounded too much, now never playable.
I asked them to atleast hand over your broken parts,
They refused to give you back and kept you way too far.

But last week I saw you on the road,
I was proud of you that you fixed yourself on your own.
I saw you with hope that you'll look back at me,
You did look back but why did you turn your back at me?

I was guilty enough to see your back,
I saw the wounds I gave you on your body and the bandages wrapped.
So now who would even say opposites attract?
I was born to scream but you were made for mellow soundtracks.

My dear guitar, I just wish I was heard,
You did let me sing, but never focused on my words.
A singer I am no more, my throat is choked and supressed,
My dear guitar I am still waiting, but you've already left.

So if you ever plan on coming back,
Bring a handkerchief with you, I might cough out till I'm black.
I guess my chronic cough is my supressed chain of words,
Once I spill everything to you, I might peacefully rest first.

I do assure you if you ever come back,
I will hold you with care this time, you won't break and crack.
Dear guitar, remember the bucket list we had planned?
A world tour with just you on my back?

I pray to the Hindu Goddess Saraswati who holds an instrument full of strings,
She'd restore our bond and our journey would begin.
Because if there is a chance to start it all over with no pain,
I might get chance back to love you again.