Three Strings Detached

By Manish Singh A

There are three strings missing

On my violin,

I think of touching the last one,

But it’s very delicate and thin,

Outside the dusty window

And closed-compact walls,

Is a road that goes far

And stands tall.

Down that easy road,

Bearing risks of a rough patch,

Some blind-trustingly go aboard,

While some get weighed down

By the fear of detach.

There are extraordinary apps and

Websites that claim to have made

Their heavenly perfect match,

But there is a catch,

For I know that there are

Hardly any genuine profiles,

Desperate individuals and their insincerity

Can be sensed from miles,

Their make-believe ambitions and aims,

Or sometimes even their fake names.

The naïve ones can’t help

Their stupid heart from taking a fall,

And the ones with second-thoughts

Wisely withdraw and uninstall,

But once one takes a deep dive,

There are no wise or naïve,

It either works out great,

Or leaves you stranded

To self-berate.

I watch them all from behind

A closed and dusty window,

Caved-in by the walls of fear;

To save my heart is the

Only intention here,

For there’s only a little love

Left beneath my weak skin,

And three missing strings

On my violin.

By Manish Singh A