In the flickering light
Almost a shadow
Playing a reminiscence of past
And lilting solitude
patiently moving to his arms
His nimble fingers
Wavering on the chords of guitar
With a silent promise of life
Just like a hummingbird
As, if he stopped
he would engulfed by his own rhythm.
Every time his crafted voice floats
he discovers himself
at the edge of partition in 1947
he was rooted out
from his very lullabies then.
Now He plays whenever
his inner child urges to sleep
And the echoes of
his sinking pulse reverberate
as world’s Kryptonite.