Whose guitar is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite sad though. It really is a tale of woe, I watch him frown. I cry hello. From the far distance To which stance my throat sores. He gives his guitar a shake, And sobs until the tears it make . The only other sound's the break, Of distant waves and birds awake. The guitar is tall, smart and deep, But he has promises to keep, Until then he shall not . He lies in bed with ducts that weep. He rises from his bitter bed, With thoughts of sadness in his head, He idolises being dead. Facing the day with never ending dread. My lonely guitarist Always far from being artist, Plays the smart guitar In the most bizarre bleep. ©Jagjeet Singh Jaggi... ख़्वाबगाह...!

Jagjeet Singh Jaggi... ख़्वाबगाह...!

Whose guitar is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite sad though. It really is a tale of woe, I watch him frown. I cry hello. From the far distance To which stance my throat sores. He gives his guitar a shake, And sobs until the tears it make . The only other sound's the break, Of distant waves and birds awake. The guitar is tall, smart and deep, But he has promises to keep, Until then he shall not . He lies in bed with ducts that weep. He rises from his bitter bed, With thoughts of sadness in his head, He idolises being dead. Facing the day with never ending dread. My lonely guitarist Always far from being artist, Plays the smart guitar In the most bizarre bleep. ©Jagjeet Singh Jaggi... ख़्वाबगाह...!

Jagjeet Singh Jaggi... ख़्वाबगाह...!