The Boy

He was playing guitar in the park,

When I was going back to home.

Surrounded by some folk,

May be friends of him. 

He sang in his sweet voice,

He didn't seem happy though.

As though he sang a mild song,

But he sounded a little low. 

Next Morning when up for office 

I still saw him singing in the park

But this time he was all alone,

Singing on a loud tone.

As if he has a lot to tell,

His pain was not to dispel.

I felt if I should go and ask him,

Was he there on his whim?

Or something is hidden within? 

People who were passing by,

Smiled at the strange guy.

I didn't want to interrupt him,

So I too glanced and walked by.