In the quiet shadows, he leans, Guitar slung low, eyes unseen, Against the dim, rough-painted wall, Lost where echoes rise and fall. The light’s a ghost from a single pane, Framing him in a soft refrain, Notes like whispers, raw and bare, Filling the silence, laced with air. A lone soul with strings and sound, In a stairwell where no one’s around, Carving chords into empty space, In the quiet, a hidden grace.