Especially when it's crafted in maple wood,
A guitar will feel warm and homely like mine;
The strings will lie open in front of you, stretched across its length,
Urging you to strum, to pluck or just a tender touch would be fine.

It's melody will send goosebumps across your skin and shivers down your spine,
On your touch this lifeless object suddenly sprung to life;
Animated, you will try to place it in your arms ,
It's hypnotizing beauty, like a lovers' charm.

Curious at first, gawky next and finally acquainted,
It's curve will perfectly sit upon your thigh;
You'll run your fingers across the six strings-
Vibrations, resounding notes low and high.

Your fingertips will venture to briefly touch the fret-board,
But a shrilling pain recoils your hand;
This new touch is alien and hurtful,
Like a thorn pricks your skin, as sinfully as it can.

Dawn and dusk set in and fall multiple times,
Until your fingers will finally settle in;
Acquainted, to make the fret-board their home,
When calluses will develop to defend your skin.

Your fondness of the beauty of a guitar will grow multitudes,
Between rapid acoustics and outpouring emotionally-
You'll find your happiness exuding through those strings,
And your salvation in this melody.

Published by Priya Ratti