The guitar may have been hanging in the shop, but what is really waiting to be noticed? That question lingered with me long after I finished reading. We often imagine that we discover the world, yet there are moments when it feels as though the world has been patiently discovering us all along.
βMy fingers carried on before my thoughtsβ is the line that quietly anchors the whole poem. It suggests there is a knowing beneath thought, one that cannot be reasoned into existence. The mind arrives late, trying to explain what the heart has already recognized.
And that ending is beautifully understated. Nothing dramatic happens. The guitar stays behind. Yet something continues the journey. Perhaps that is all transformation ever is, not acquiring something new, but walking away a little less separate from what was always there.
Thatβs such a lovely observation there Dipti. Maybe many things in life arenβt the ones we expect to be waiting for us - relationships, moments, objects. And the world around us has been truly discovering us as we pass on by. Iβm so pleased you caught that moment in the piece. Our hearts often feel the beat of something more, long before our minds have had a chance to catch up, and maybe thatβs the way it is supposed to be.
Thank you Dipti, for adding a whole new layer to this piece π«Ά
I smiled at your phrase, βthe world around us has been truly discovering us.β It turns the usual story inside out. We spend so much of life believing we are the ones searching, choosing, arriving. But perhaps recognition is always mutual. We notice something because, in a quiet way, it has already made room for us.
And yes, I think the heart has its own chronology. It doesnβt rush ahead of the mind or lag behind it. It simply moves on a different clock altogether. The mind calls it coincidence, instinct, or chance. The heart never seems to need a name for it.
Thank you for writing a poem spacious enough to let those thoughts wander into it.
Oh this is so beautiful and for me sentimental, reminds me of my young high school days, where we had not much money but wanted to have a band and needed guitars ... so went to shops and admired ... touched ... exited empty hands ...
In my high school days I used hang out at the local guitar and amp shop in Bristol. Usually staying late on a Friday night to play the les Pauls and crank up the Marshall amps when the shop shut. And eventually got a very low paid job - just because I liked it so much (and for the staff discount π€£)
Indeed Mark! I have the same impression! Similar experiences, similar things we did, similar things we liked and still do β¦ similar epoque β¦ thatβs cool β¦
Such beautiful and nostalgic writing, brings back some of the best memories! Thank you Mark! π«Άπ«Άπ«Ά
Thank you! Fractals for letting me write this for you π«Ά
ππ»ππ»ππ»
Gorgeous! βi simply kept walking with something softer
beneath my ribsβ = β€οΈβ€οΈβ€οΈ
Thank you! β€οΈβ€οΈβ€οΈ
The guitar may have been hanging in the shop, but what is really waiting to be noticed? That question lingered with me long after I finished reading. We often imagine that we discover the world, yet there are moments when it feels as though the world has been patiently discovering us all along.
βMy fingers carried on before my thoughtsβ is the line that quietly anchors the whole poem. It suggests there is a knowing beneath thought, one that cannot be reasoned into existence. The mind arrives late, trying to explain what the heart has already recognized.
And that ending is beautifully understated. Nothing dramatic happens. The guitar stays behind. Yet something continues the journey. Perhaps that is all transformation ever is, not acquiring something new, but walking away a little less separate from what was always there.
Thatβs such a lovely observation there Dipti. Maybe many things in life arenβt the ones we expect to be waiting for us - relationships, moments, objects. And the world around us has been truly discovering us as we pass on by. Iβm so pleased you caught that moment in the piece. Our hearts often feel the beat of something more, long before our minds have had a chance to catch up, and maybe thatβs the way it is supposed to be.
Thank you Dipti, for adding a whole new layer to this piece π«Ά
I smiled at your phrase, βthe world around us has been truly discovering us.β It turns the usual story inside out. We spend so much of life believing we are the ones searching, choosing, arriving. But perhaps recognition is always mutual. We notice something because, in a quiet way, it has already made room for us.
And yes, I think the heart has its own chronology. It doesnβt rush ahead of the mind or lag behind it. It simply moves on a different clock altogether. The mind calls it coincidence, instinct, or chance. The heart never seems to need a name for it.
Thank you for writing a poem spacious enough to let those thoughts wander into it.
Reads and flows smoothly and paints the picture it wants to convey, lovely
Thank you, King!
Oh, this made me smile and sigh. π€
Thank you, Jennifer. Your kind words do the same for me β₯οΈ
So beautiful
thank you, Dorie π©·
Always!
It felt like I was there, observing. This is lovely.
Thank you, EJOD. I'm so pleased that cane through in the piece π
Are you a songwriter? I can almost hear the song that this is⦠or could be.
I write electronic music more recently, but used to be in a uni band on guitar back in the days ;)
Got a new poem, video and music coming out this weekend when I finish the video π
Aha! It really came through this poem. Please turn it into a balladβ¦ππΎ
Iβll see what I can do! Thanks for the idea π
Youβre welcome! Canβt wait to hear it!
Oh this is so beautiful and for me sentimental, reminds me of my young high school days, where we had not much money but wanted to have a band and needed guitars ... so went to shops and admired ... touched ... exited empty hands ...
Thank you, Dean!
I think at times we led parallel lives.
In my high school days I used hang out at the local guitar and amp shop in Bristol. Usually staying late on a Friday night to play the les Pauls and crank up the Marshall amps when the shop shut. And eventually got a very low paid job - just because I liked it so much (and for the staff discount π€£)
Indeed Mark! I have the same impression! Similar experiences, similar things we did, similar things we liked and still do β¦ similar epoque β¦ thatβs cool β¦
you played memories of the woods. beautiful poem.
Thank you, Linda!
πΈπ₯ πΈ
This was so poignant and beautiful
Thank you, dear Aailya β₯οΈ
My first was like that too. I remember it like it was yesterday. Perhaps it was.
Thank you, Jay. A lovely memory to hold.