The vocalist

By Siddhartha Mittal

A man on the stage

Just unknown from his fame

What he holds inside

The majestic elevated voice

He’s wearing a dark leather robe with a hat on top

Adjusting the attitude on his face and ready to beat the drop

When he held the mic to his face and started to hum his favourite song

Oh! the crowd rejoiced with excitement accompanied by endless applause

He sang through his soul nourishing the ears of masses

He struck the chords so appropriate that directly reached the people’s heart

The vocalist we call him, the magician of words, the master of vocals and the prestige above all that nobody could afford to stand

The melody of the moment was about to reveal but the sun rose above, eyes opened wide and the dream came to an end.

By Siddhartha Mittal