Sonnet Poem by Ashwath Islampure

Like a rift in the breeze
your voice comes bit by bit,
at the end of the day
no sign tells where I keep it,

the next day I set again on race
its my work to listen with a gaze,
it never breaks the silence as
outside the sun has made it ablaze,

anyone can help me to find it
but, never can being the exact retreat,
the retreat that throws me in scrutiny
which may continue to play with the beat,

I don't know whether I will find or not
but, I listen your echo bit by bit.