They call him Malik,
‘Mad’ Malik,
In the streets he tiptoes and dances,
From cold of dawn
to the dark of dusk,
He weaves and swings to beats,
On streets corners and by bus stops,
He shouts and sings,
Cars brake hard and drivers wave and smile.

In sun, wind or rain,
In storm, heatwave, and in the shade,
This man is the spirit of our streets,
His zesty zany jiving
It touches black and white,
It reaches young and old,
He makes us stop and pause,
Call him what you may,
But in his heart he hears music of the soul.

A rare human indeed,
Not one to be chained in an office,
Not one to run the rat race,
Not one to follow orders or conform,
He dares to do what others dream,
He dares to scream in the rain,
He dares to taste snowflakes,
Freedom wild and uncontained,
‘Mad’ Malik long may you dance away human pain.