To a record player I never owned

I measure the unnumbered days
of our separation like

one would count your decibels;
they seem to stretch.

At times, I picture you,
the way your body parts
melt into one other:
a suitcase, your skin;
a flat disk, your mind and thoughts;
a needle, sharp like your tongue,
smooth like your vocal cords,
marked like your mouth.

As a single unit,
you are a whole human
to me,
one I yearn to meet.

But we will keep running in circles,
spinning continuously, I believe,
with my thoughts and your disk
chasing each other to no end.

Your music blares, clearing
a fog of certainty,
seeing me while
you stay invisible.
We get lost in translation,
your music, my catastrophe.

-Taru Gupta.


This was my second post for the project this Poetry Month ‘What’s in a name?’ where I will celebrate the presence of poetry in daily objects. This is about the lack of an item from my life that I always wanted because it speaks to me through music, like a human being. Except, the language of music sees me even when I can’t see it myself.

Creative Commons License
To a record player I never owned by Taru Gupta is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

6 thoughts on “To a record player I never owned

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