The dream sleeps with the dawn,
and when nostalgia grips the soul at the day’s end,
when the world rejoices in the pain of being someone in disguise,
I find myself in the past of time.
When, at the shelter of love, they grow hate —
mania and garishness are their intake;
though surrendering to the darkness all around,
all alone, I ship my way.
People come, and go away,
just like another season of a year;
with the change, they drift away,
but I look on, silently, at everything, like every day.
When they shout at the fool of a day,
I wonder who is the better one of the day;
the same interests, so many others —
but all of it, when I come, only to go away…
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