Nobody leaves home at this hour
With a hint of escapade drooling on your mind
Like the warped outlines of putrid vapors
Smelling as ether in an empty bottle, unkempt
At the table where unattended articles have been waiting
To take me on fire and the beats are rising to the tune
Of running feet that I left
Panting in expectation, they have never seen the end
Of closed windows or the inside of a falling creeper
Efforts galore to reach somewhere from
This mile of my walk, alone
Must be that moment
I have been dreaming in my busiest chores
That which is pushing my ‘I’ from within
An ensemble I have been all along commending
That nobody leaves home, alone
In an early train, Nobody
When there is room for one
More act, one more that can still succeed
To fail, or fail to succeed
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