The man who plays the guitar in the street
Played the same song over and over again
I wasn't sick of his beats
Maybe yet....
It just felt close....
Every freaking time I heard it....
I miss took him many times thinking may be he's singing it to me...
May be he knows me, he has heard me.... Or may be secretly stalking me.....
Or may be he can read minds....
It wasn't about broken hearts
It was about a traveller
Who wanted to see the world
But yet to be at home after every journey
For the home cooked meal and mother's love....
Then I sigh
Thinking when I ever will...
